


Heart's Desire

by shotgun, TheFierceBeast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Castiel, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Crowley, Car Sex, Castiel in Panties, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Crowley and Feelings, Crowley is a proud hellhound papa, Crowley talks dirty, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, First Time Blow Jobs, First time with a man, Flirting, Hangover, Happy Ending, Inexperienced Castiel, Innuendo, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Nearly Human Crowley, Nude Photos, Oral Sex, Peril, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Possessive Crowley, Power Dynamics, Protective Crowley, Protective Winchesters, Recreational Drug Use, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, Temporarily Human Castiel, Top Castiel, Top Crowley, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Verbal Sparring, Voyeurism, cocktails, crowstiel, dubious use of wards, look at their fucking love connection, masochist crowley, please take time to imagine these two getting stoned together, referenced past drowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 84,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgun/pseuds/shotgun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: An alternate Season 11. After Rowena casts the Attack Dog Spell on him, Castiel goes missing. Crowley is determined to find him and take his revenge for the angel almost killing him... again. What he finds is something entirely different.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating is for later chapters. Shotgun wrote Castiel, TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley. We hope you enjoy reading this even a tenth as much as we enjoyed writing it! All comments and con-crit gratefully received <3

“I thought I made it plain, Lenny. Acquisition of the listed targets is the number one workplace priority. Targets have not been acquired. You realise that this will count against you in your next quarterly review? I might have to put a stop to your bonuses, and by bonuses I mean _life_!”

Crowley paced. The demon standing in front of him cringed, but it wasn’t satisfying, not in the slightest. Crowley was frustrated. “Sir,” Lenny managed. “I can assure you that finding your mother, Amara and the angel Castiel has been our absolute top priority-”

“And yet you have managed to find – let me see – _none_ of them? There’s three to choose from, take your pick, yet – not _one_ of them? What kind of bloody Mickey Mouse outfit are we running here?”

“It’s just,” Lenny continued, sounding panicked.

“What? Spit it out.” Crowley raised a threatening eyebrow.

“We’re still short-staffed, and the targets are, well, all kind of powerful.”

“Yes.” Crowley’s voice was dangerously low and reasonable. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? So powerful you’d think it’d make them, oh, shall we say ‘noticeable’, hrm? How about ‘quite difficult to misplace’.”

“Quite good at not being found when they don’t want to be?” Lenny gave an apologetic smile.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “It’s like watching chimps finger-paint with their own faeces. Alright. My mother, granted, is a slippery old eel. And Amara, well…” He sighed, irritably. “Castiel, though. Bewitched angel carving a trail of destruction through Hicksville, how hard can that be to trace?”

“Sir, we’ve tried everything we can think of. We’ve put traces on the angel, we’ve put traces on the spell. We’ve sent the hounds out, we’ve had as many staff top-side as we can spare to scour the area where he was last spotted. He’s just… disappeared.”

“Heaven’s Most Wanted does not simply ‘disappear’.” Crowley continued to pace, hands clasped behind his back, heels clicking on the stone flags of the surveillance room.

“But sir, we checked the newspapers, local and national, for any unusual attacks; there’s been nothing. We even put a trace on his cell-phone.”

“How?”

“Hacked Dean Winchester’s cell for his number.”

Crowley grunted, grudgingly conceding a smidgen of admiration. “And?”

“Dead, sir. And it’s looking as if its owner is, too. It’s been a month… your mother’s spell was strong, and in all previous cases fatal…” Lenny held the king’s gaze, anxiously.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “If you think that we’re free of that feathered menace that easily, then you’re even more stupid than you look.” A long-suffering sigh. “Never entrust a pupil with a master’s job: I have to do damn well everything myself, don’t I? You keep looking for The Wicked Witch and Dorothy. I’ll deal with Toto.”

 

Heaven's Most Wanted does not simply disappear. Except for when he does. Lenny may have shown some startling initiative hacking Winchester Senior’s phone from the number Crowley had on his records, but Crowley can hack much more than that.

Back in his private apartments, topside, the bronze basin on the coffee table in front of him emitted a sudden fizz, sending up a belch of dark smoke that had Crowley leaning back against the overstuffed cushions he was seated on to avoid singed eyebrows. He carefully unwrapped a twist of paper from the assortment of ingredients lined up on the table-top beside him and took a pinch of the contents, a few light brown strands of hair. “That’ll teach you to use my bed,” he muttered, sprinkling them into the mix. The billowing smoke turned white, but improbably kept pouring. In the midst of the cloud, images started to form, like matrixing television static. The picture was dreadful, but the sound came through loud and squirrelly-clear. Crowley sank back against the sofa cushions, propped his feet, crossed at the ankles, on the table, steepled his fingers, and listened carefully.

“I don’t know where.” Moose’s unmistakable tones. Crowley narrowed his eyes, focusing on the taller amorphous figure, weaving amidst the smoke.

“Well, you had it last.”

“Dean, I swear to – will you quit bugging me? I have no idea where the marshmallow fluff is…”

With an impatient noise, Crowley waved his fingers. Stupid spell’s language filter is more useless than Windows Explorer file search. The smoke dissipated and reformed; another scene from sometime in the previous week. The same two indistinct figures, this time seated.

“…just doesn’t make any sense, man.” Dean. Sounding wrung-out. “I just don’t know where he can be.” Crowley sat up straighter on the couch, leaning forward a little.

“We’ll keep looking. He can’t just… disappear.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He can. You know it and I know it – he can disappear right off the face of the earth – heck, he’s not even from the earth. He could be in Heaven, he could be in Hell for all we know and there’s not a goddamn thing we can do about it.”

“Except keep looking,” Sam said, gently.

“Yeah. Yeah.” There’s the good ol’ Squirrel spirit. And spirits, too, from the sloshing liquid sound that accompanied the following sigh. “We keep looking. Keep praying. He’s never given up on us, we don’t give up on him. What we got?”

A Moosey sigh. The tap of laptop keys. “A big fat helping of not-much, to be honest. I’m monitoring Missing Persons, freaky news stories, hospital admissions, John Does-”

“Dude, really?”

“Cover all bases, is all.”

“Sammy…”

“No, Dean. Don’t say it. You don’t have to.”

Dean’s voice sounded scraped raw. “What if he really is gone this time? That spell… Sammy, where do cursed angels go when they..?” he petered off.

“We’ll find him.” Sam said, firmly. Even through the filter of spellcasting it was clear in his voice that he was trying to sound more confident than he felt. “You know, we could always ask-”

“Oh, are you for real?” Crowley frowned a little at the vehemence of Dean’s interruption. “Last time me and Crowley spoke, he was gonna kill me.”

“He’s always threatening to kill you.”

“Yeah, well. This time he meant it.”

“He’s bound to be searching for Cas, though, Dean. We could do worse than team up.”

“Like we just did, looking for Amara, you-”

Crowley, abruptly, snapped his fingers. The smoke fell into the basin like dropped flour, the voices cut off mid-sentence. He’d heard enough. If Dumb and Dumber were contemplating coming to him for clues, then there’s obviously nothing he can learn from them. Leaning his head back against the plump couch cushions, Crowley pinched his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, contemplating. He was running out of options.

Crowley doesn't do last resorts. They're the kind of disorganisation masquerading as romance that the Winchesters trade in, but this time his back was against the metaphorical wall. As opposed to the literal wall on which hung the mirror he was then staring into. His vessel's reflection stared back: Crowley adjusted his tie, had a little preen; handsome bastard, his vessel. Compact. Sleek. He flashed himself a knicker-melting smile, but his heart wasn’t really in it. _His heart. Ugh_. Behind those amber eyes his true reflection writhed and boiled.  Reaching into his trouser pocket, Crowley retrieved something that caught the light. Something sharp edged and flashing, but not a blade: another piece of mirror, a broken shard, the silvered backing scratched off, etched in strategic arcane lines. He drew the edge gently across his left ring finger. A bright edge of blood welled in its wake. Reaching out his left hand to the mirror's surface, Crowley touched just his bloodied fingertip to the surface, which seemed to ripple beneath his hand like skimming a stone into a pool. He traced across the shimmering surface, drawing curves and lines in blood, dangerous sigils, "Desiderium Cordis."  
The surface of the mirror crackled, from the bloody symbols outwards, as if icing up. Then, just as quickly, it thawed, condensation running down in rivulets that seemed to wash it clean: the mirror became a window. Crowley peered out through it. It looked out onto a street, a downtown anywhere street. Unremarkable people, coming and going. Crowley squinted, scanning. And then he spotted him. Dressed in blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, carrying a paper bag of what looked like groceries under one arm, but he'd recognise that tousled dark head anywhere. As he watched, the figure went up a set of stairs to an apartment door - number 462, but Crowley couldn’t spot a building name or street sign - fumbled with keys and disappeared inside. Crowley frowned. He waved a hand, and the mirror was just a mirror again, reflecting back his own confusion.

 

Heart’s desire. It's a misleading name for such a terrible spell; and Crowley means terrible in the old sense, the true sense. This magic that will let you see the object of whatever it is you crave most: love, treasure... revenge. He's not naive to the danger of this conjuring: it can eat the caster up. The longer the window remains open, the more consumed you become, your grim desire multiplying. Crowley knew this. Could feel himself, weakening, his resolve cracking. And yet, again, he opened the window.

That time the view was an interior. A bar. Crowley leaned forward, swirling his own tumbler of whisky as he watched Castiel enter. Drinking? Socialising? He was still dressed in civvies - jeans and a t-shirt this time - his appearance odd out of his holy soldier's uniform of tie and trench. Crowley watched as he navigated past tables occupied and unoccupied, waited to see who he was there to join. His eyebrows raised at the same time as Castiel raised the hinged section of bar-top and slipped behind, disappearing into a doorway at the rear of the bar. A rendezvous? What, an illegal back room deal? When he emerged again a moment later with a big plastic bag full of ice which he proceeded to tip into the ice bucket, Crowley's eyebrows lowered until his eyes were glowering slits. Castiel picked up a rag and started to wipe down the bar-top. Crowley waved a hand and was faced once again with his own scowling reflection.

He looked through the window more than he should. It was his first thought before court, his last before work ended for the day. When he should have been relaxing with a gossip mag or taking a circuit with the hounds, Crowley found himself back there, staring pensively at his own drawn face.

The problem was, that whilst the mirror showed him Castiel, it showed him without context and there was no way to record, or pause, or zoom or slow down. No matter how carefully Crowley peered - and his eyesight is keen, his uptake quick - he was just not able to make out a single useful landmark in the morose backdrop of tenements and bar and anonymous city streets. He'd seen plenty of Castiel though. Too much. "What's your game, angel?" Crowley murmured to himself. His fingers reached, stalled, millimetres from the surface of the glass. It felt warm. On the other side, however many miles away, Castiel compared two brands of cat food in the middle of a crowded mini mart. He mixed drinks behind a nondescript bar. He sat on a tan corduroy sofa and watched TV alone, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and swigging from a can of soda. There was a cat. It jumped up, kneading at his thigh and he dropped a hand to circle fingers easily behind its ears without taking his eyes off the TV screen. The blueish light of it flickered, casting bluer reflections in his blue eyes and there was no sound from the mirror, none at all, but Crowley swore he could almost hear that damn cat purring. "What are you playing at?" He muttered. In the mirror, Castiel smiled, for all the world as if he could hear Crowley's question.

It was at the point when Crowley was just about ready to stage a self-intervention that it happened. The mirror was all he could think about. Castiel was all he could think about; this searing obsession that occupied his every waking thought - which, _hello, demon_ \- constitutes absolutely his every thought. He was in the bar again. Cas talking, smiling at some customer - a young couple, ordering something stupid and fruity-looking in Mason jars - and then there was... Crowley jolted alert, peering in. Castiel was handing the young man something, except the man was still talking, so Castiel's hand remained there, outstretched, offering a matchbook with a logo on it for... Crowley squinted, harder. He could almost make it out. "O'Hanrahan's, 2157 Berkdale," he whispered, voice icy with triumph. "Got you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley pays Castiel a visit at the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be updating this pretty frequently, each chapter is from an alternating POV. Thank you for reading! <3

Jimmy Novak had a nice life, a simple life. He lived in a small apartment with his cat, Whiskers. He had a job as a bartender, a bookcase full of books, and Hulu premium. Most importantly he had a routine: tea and a book, a morning jog, play time with his cat, television, work. Now and then he would have dinner with a neighbor. Normally he ate alone, and that was just fine. He was fond of cooking, fond of simplicity.

Jimmy Novak had a simple life, and that was the way he liked it.

 

“Yo, Jimmy! Another round for me and the boys!” That was Stuart, a regular. Him and his friends had guys night out there once a month and Stuart came in more often than the rest.

Jimmy poured the beers they’d been drinking all night and pushed them toward Stuart and one of his friends. The regular gave him a salute before he walked away.

“Hey, Jimmy! Another shot of tequila,” Lindsey said, leaning forward on the bar, exposing her breasts. It was a habit the woman had developed shortly after Jimmy started working at O’Hanrahan’s.

Jimmy poured the shot and pushed a bowl of peanuts toward the young woman as well. “Eat.”

“Oh, Jimmy, you're so sweet to me,” Lindsey sighed dreamily, “When are you gonna take me home?”

Jimmy fought the urge to cringe. Lindsey was a beautiful woman: long dark hair, light brown eyes, curvy in a way that had half the men in the bar trying to pick her up. She was a sweet girl too, and he'd only seen her go home with one man, shortly after he started working there; but Jimmy simply wasn't interested. She was in her early twenties while he was in his forties. She spent her weekends drinking while he spent his wandering parks. He'd yet to find anything they had in common.

“Why don't you go talk to Brad?” Jimmy suggested, nodding in the direction of a man her age, another regular, more quiet than the rest; one he'd seen on multiple occasions staring at Lindsey. The two had talked several times, but Brad had never made a move.

“I think he's gay,” Lindsey whispered and Jimmy barked out a laugh.

“Not with the way he looks at you,” he said, giving her a nudge, “I'd say he's shy.”

Lindsey contemplated that, knocked back her shot, and winked at Jimmy before making her way over to the young man.

Jimmy's attention was pulled away when the music in the bar suddenly cut out. He glanced toward the doors as they both flung open, a man walking in. At first glance the man was dressed in a well-tailored suit, overcoat, gray tie. A bit short, dark eyes, with a beard. No doubt was he attractive. Beyond that though, there was something more, similar to something Jimmy had only seen once in his life before: it was the shape of a man, yet different, entirely different. Taller than what Jimmy saw initially, broader, thorny edges and sharp curves. Its skin, if you could call the flayed bits over muscle skin, was fire red. Beneath it sleek muscle was exposed, gleaming and wet with fresh blood. Its eyes were red as well, scarlet, something in them drawing Jimmy in. Racks of long, white teeth were beneath them, curved, predatory. Smoke curled off of the figure, the same shade as its eyes. A suit clung to it: there was no saying what color it used to be, soaked in blood as it was now. Over what could best be described as a shoulder was a bag overflowing with parchment.

By all rights the sight should have been terrifying, yet instead of being afraid Jimmy found himself transfixed. It was beautiful.

The man approached the bar, expression cold and impassive, giving Jimmy an uneasy feeling.

“Hello, Castiel. I'll have a nice tall glass of-let me see...” Brown eyes moved over the bottles behind Jimmy, “ _Revenge_.”

The bartender took a moment to compose himself, not giving away any sign of seeing more than what was normal. “I've never heard of that drink,” he replied, tipping his head to the side. He pointed at his name tag, “And my name is Jimmy.”

Eyes narrowed, then widened as if in surprise. “I apologize... _Jimmy_.” He spoke slowly, stare hard, continuing to make the bartender uncomfortable. “You sure do look like somebody I used to know. Are you certain that name doesn’t ring any church bells?” The man rested a hand on the counter, the other still in his pocket.

It wasn't the first time someone had told Jimmy they swore they knew him from somewhere. In the past he'd found it was a flirtation. Given the looks he was receiving he didn't think that was what was happening here. “I can't say it does,” he answered, “Perhaps I have... one of those faces, as they say. I'm sorry for any disappointment.”

The man gave a shake of his head so small that Jimmy barely noticed, eyes never leaving his face. “Perhaps you do,” he agreed, hand very slowly moving from his pocket. He produced a wallet, flipping it open and pulling a twenty out, extended between his fingers, nodding toward the top shelf. “Scotch. Double. No ice.”

Jimmy nodded, taking the money. He poured the drink, slid it across the bar, and offered him his change. He watched the man as he seemed to search his face for something. The man’s fingers circled the glass, rotating it on the worn bar.

“Thanks.” For the first time the man flashed a smile at him, even if his eyes still held something uncertain. It was odd. Jimmy had received many looks: lust, anger, fondness, confusion...this was one he hadn’t received before. The other man cleared his throat and nodded to the change. “And whatever you're having.”

“You're too kind,” Jimmy said, paying for his favorite mixed drink. It was one he'd heard frequently called girly, but he didn't mind. It was delicious and that was what counted.

“May I ask your name?”

“Crowley.” The man seemed to be watching him carefully, scrutinizing him, but Jimmy's expression didn't change. It was an interesting name, that was all. “Perhaps we've... got off on the wrong foot. I've had a long week.” Crowley drained his glass and wiggled it, cocking a brow.

That made Jimmy relax a bit. A long week. So Crowley's problem wasn't with him. “Would you like to talk about it?” He offered, pouring another drink and sliding it to Crowley.

Crowley's brows shot up, a quick expression that was gone as soon as it came. He took the glass, speaking as Jimmy sipped his own drink. “I wouldn't want to bore you, love. I'm sure you get more than enough strangers regaling you with their tales of woe in your line of work, hmmm?”

Jimmy gave a soft chuckle at that. “It may seem strange, but I like it,” he admitted, “I'm fascinated by all of the tales, even those not of woe. Anyway, I like helping people, and sometimes telling a stranger your problems is helpful.”

“Listening to piss-artists bitch all day, you must be some kind of angel.” The lopsided grin Crowley gave him made Jimmy's heart beat a bit faster, a fact which he ignored. “Or a writer on the sly. Is that it? Are you gathering material for your next novel?”

Jimmy let out another chuckle. “Oh I'm no angel,” he said with a little smile, “Not a writer either, unfortunately. I just like to help.”

“So… _Jimmy_.” Crowley shot him a sideways glance, “How long have you worked here?”

“A couple months,” Jimmy answered, ignoring the strange look, “But I'd say I've learned fairly quickly.”

“Your first bar job. Really?” Jimmy was pleased with the surprise at that, “Where did you work before this?”

“I was a barista at a coffee shop.”

Crowley nodded, toying with his half empty glass on the bar-top. “Customer skills. Same town? That is… I'm new here. Could do with a few pointers. Where to eat, to drink, nightlife, you know.” He finally broke eye contact to knock back his drink, setting the glass on the bar.

Jimmy's eyes flicked briefly to Crowley's lips, wet from the alcohol, and quickly back up again. Attraction was not something he usually felt. He'd been contently single the whole time he'd lived in this area. There was no reason for it to change.

“Well, I've only lived here slightly longer than I've had this job,” he admitted, “But I can tell you this is the place to drink. I know some good places to eat. I can't say I do night life.”

“Well, biased as you may be,” Crowley grinned, a charming look matched with his straight teeth and velvet voice, “I can believe that this is the best place in this town to get a drink. The staff, at least, are very friendly.” He winked as Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat. “I might have to come back here. Have a good evening, Jimmy.”

With that Crowley turned to leave, his exit less dramatic than his entrance. Jimmy watched, pulling at the collar of his shirt, suddenly very warm. It was only then that he noticed the music still wasn't playing.

 

The rest of the night seemed to fly by, Jimmy pondering over the strange man he'd encountered. It seemed moments later that he found himself in bed, Whiskers sleeping on top of his feet, and still he was thinking of Crowley, of what he'd seen when the man walked in, of the speakers he'd found to be blown out.

Why was he seeing these things? Sure, it had only happened twice, but certainly that wasn't normal. He'd been able to take it in stride while at work because... well, he was at work. What was he supposed to do? Now, alone with his thoughts, it was concerning.

After much deliberation he came to the only logical conclusion: he was going crazy. Good. Okay. He could deal with that.  Especially if he got to see Crowley again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes back to the bar to gather more information.... yep, gathering information, that's exactly what he's doing...

"Then _make_ the figures balance." Crowley swirled the bloody chalice in his hand as if preparing to drink from it. Frowned at the stammering voice emanating from it.  
"But... Your Majesty, with respect, this issue could benefit from your personal attention. It's just that... Well, you've been topside a lot lately and..."  
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "And? And this is why we _delegate_ , Martin."  
"...Marvin, sire."  
" _Whatever_. If I say your name is Shirley, it's Shirley. If I say jump, you make like a bunny. Am I making myself clear?"  
"Yes... Yes, Your Highness."  
"Good. Now get back to bloody work, Shirley."  
"Very good, my Lord."  
Smacking the goblet down on his coffee table, Crowley sighed, rubbing both hands across his face. Maybe he was distracted. A little. But it was important stuff, vital to his rule and how _do_ you solve a problem like Castiel?  
Hauling himself from his armchair, with a wave of his hand a hidden door opened in the smooth plasterwork of the wall and he let himself into the Mirror Room.  
When did it become the Mirror Room in his mind? Crowley stood before the thing, hands in his pockets, reflection worrying at its bottom lip.  
_Castiel_.  
It was him. Obviously. In that bar, it was him. Acting like a human, but still absolutely, unmistakeably an angel: Crowley could sense it the moment he set foot in that dreary dive, the aura of him, the terrible, divine light of grace folding in impossible, physics-defying angles into that fragile vessel. But then - Crowley's hand hovered over the silver surface of the mirror - it was as if the angel really believed himself human. Crowley knew acting. He was an expert at deception himself and this didn't feel like subterfuge, it felt _convincing_. He'd been so damn keen to destroy him. So ready to sink his teeth in and rid the universe of the angel of Thursday forever. But then... He'd found him, horribly, confusingly reminiscent of his old asylum-fresh self, when he'd taken on Moose's insanity, no wall in his mind to shield him. Was this that? Crowley's fingers danced, millimetres from the mirror’s cool glass. Castiel didn't seem insane. Just... Human. _Jimmy_. Taking on his vessel's name? Identity? It amounted to insanity in Crowley's eyes. Certainly, it was nothing it seemed fair or sporting to raze - not, at least, without working out what the Hell was going on first. Figure him out. Fix him. Then obliterate him in a fair fight. And the only way Crowley could do that...  
He tapped a gentle fingertip to the mirror. Swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The glass shivered, then resolved into an image. The apartment. Castiel's - _Jimmy's_ \- flat. Crowley narrowed his eyes, breathing through his nose. This was the bathroom. He'd not seen the bathroom before. As he watched, a familiar figure entered.  Snaked an arm behind the shower curtain to switch on the water. Crowley cleared his throat. Wiped a faint sheen of sweat from his brow - damned spell, taking it out of him - and carried on watching as the figure in the mirror smoothly slipped off his t-shirt, over his head in one fluent twist. Long fingers moved gracefully to the waistband of his jeans, popping the buttons and sliding denim down over slender hips... Crowley clicked his fingers.  His own paled face stared back at him once more, gnawing on his bottom lip. The seconds dragged. Crowley tasted blood. Hesitantly, he raised his hand again. This time, his fingers didn't leave the shimmering surface of the glass. Behind it, water beat down. A strange angle and location for a window - he'd laugh, but it wasn't funny. Not remotely. Crowley's fingers traced, beyond the glass, the strong curve of a naked shoulder. The dip of the small of his back. The perfect peach of his arse. Crowley swallowed again. When Castiel turned his head to the side under the silent shower spray, it looked as if he was... Oh, he _was_. Singing. Singing in the shower. Crowley peered, but he couldn't quite lip read, couldn't quite work out why it felt suddenly so very vital he know what song he was belting out so blithely... With a jolt, Crowley realised that his lips were virtually touching the glass. Shuddering, he clicked his fingers again, wiping the scene to silver.  
He might be a bastard, but he's not a fucking bastard.  
  
The only logical way, really, to find out what was going on was to visit the bar again. Gathering intel, Crowley reasoned to himself, as he pushed open the doors of O'Hanrahan's for the second time that week. He was oddly hesitant. It was later at night than his first visit to the bar, near closing, so more people were dotted around the booths and tables, a buzz of conversation underpinning the music. They'd fixed the speakers, then - commercial r’n’b - Crowley wrinkled his nose. He wasn't used to not making an entrance. He straightened his tie, making his way to the bar. At first he thought he'd somehow mistimed and Castiel – _Jimmy_ , he had to keep reminding himself - wasn't there, then there he was, emerging from the back room with a stack of clean glasses. Crowley froze, like he'd been caught at something; like Castiel could somehow read his mind. Ridiculous. Plastering on his most charming crocodile smile, he squared his shoulders and went to work.  
When ‘Jimmy's’ gaze landed on him, he beamed. Quickly putting the glasses where they belonged, ‘Jimmy’ walked over. "Hello, Crowley. It's nice to see you again.” He spoke loudly, to be heard over the music.  
Crowley slid up onto a barstool - best claim his spot, and the bartender's attention. "Jimmy. Fancy meeting you here." He flashed a winsome smile.  
‘Jimmy’ laughed softly at that. "I do work here.”  
"Is this the beginning or the end of your shift?"  
"I have an hour left."  
"Just an hour? I'll have to be quick then, won't I?” Crowley’s smile quirked up at one corner. "I do so hate to drink alone."  
‘Jimmy’ smiled a little. "I highly doubt you have any trouble finding someone to drink with."  
_Really?_ "Are you _flirting_ with me, Mr... Well, look at that.” Crowley purred, spotting his _in_ , “I don't even know your last name."  
‘Jimmy's’ cheeks flushed slightly. "I'm making an observation," he said, "I don’t know your last name either."  
Crowley leaned his head to one side. Observed the other man through lowered lashes. That charming colouring of his cheeks, his obvious embarrassment – neither acting, nor angelic. "Yes you do. Crowley. You don't know my first name."  
‘Jimmy’ blinked at that, tipping his head to the side briefly. "Well then... I don't even know your first name. Please tell me it isn't Aleister."  
Crowley couldn’t hold in a genuine smile at that – at that unconscious mirroring gesture and the comment that followed it. The angel was proving a tougher nut to crack than he'd anticipated. Maybe he _was_ hiding something after all... "Well, if I tell you that..." Crowley leaned forward over the bar, "I'll have to kill you."  
As Crowley spoke, he watched, carefully. And ‘Jimmy’ maintained an immaculate poker face throughout. "Well," he said solemnly, "That would be unfortunate since you loathe to drink alone."  
"Touché, angel." Crowley's grin widened. "So, are you going to ask me what my pleasure is? If I sink enough in," he checked his wristwatch, "the next fifty minutes, you might even get my name from me."  
‘Jimmy’ grinned back. "And you may get my last name," he replied, "So, what may I get for you, Mister Crowley?”  
Crowley kept his position, leaning on the bar. A couple of barely-legal looking girls had strolled over to order - the woman working the shift with ‘Jimmy’ served them, to Crowley's relief. He didn't want to share the angel's attention now he might be finally getting somewhere. Lowering his voice, so that 'Jimmy' had to lean in a little to hear him over the drone and grind of the music, he murmured, "You know, what I’d like right now, what I'd really like... is a Quickie."  
‘Jimmy's’ cheeks turned red at that and he visibly swallowed. His gaze ran over Crowley, almost too quick to be noticed. He grabbed a glass and the alcohol needed, quickly mixing the drink. Crowley watched his hands as he mixed. Interesting. The dumb budgie actually knew what he was doing. And did he imagine it, or was that a blush? Well. More and more interesting. Crowley shifted in his seat. This was new: Castiel actually understanding innuendo; not only understanding but _responding_ , those delicious little blushes so easy to provoke. He was _so_ human, and yet... the light was still there, behind his eyes, the shift and flicker of his true grace. Crowley frowned, managing to shift his expression back to a smile just in time to accept the bourbon shooter the barman handed to him.  
"One Quickie."  
"Oh, you're good." Crowley raised the glass. "Bottoms up." Downed it smoothly in one. "On the tab, yeah? Now let me see..." He looked ‘Jimmy’ in the eye. "How about giving me a Little Piece of Heaven? And the same for yourself - I noticed you like the peach schnapps..."  
‘Jimmy’ watched Crowley as he took the shot, taking his card to open a tab. "Very observant," he said, making two of the drinks and sliding one to Crowley.  
"Very sweet." Crowley took a sip, eyes on ‘Jimmy’. He stirred the contents of his tumbler with the little black straw, then drew said straw slowly along his tongue, considering. "The drink, I mean." He smiled. "So, you're allowed to partake on the job, then?" He took a too-large sip, hoping 'Jimmy' would mirror it. Loose lips and all that. Jimmy gave another little flush as Crowley amended his comment and he nodded in agreement. "Very sweet." He took another sip, drinking in time with Crowley, to Crowley’s delight: let’s see how far the angel had fallen into humanity. "As long as I don't get drunk," he said with a tiny shrug. "That's not too hard for, considering I don't seem-"  
"Jimmy!" A man called happily, slapping down a bill, "Rum and coke, my friend."  
Jimmy smiled apologetically at Crowley, pouring the drink and offering the man his change as Crowley frowned a little at the interruption. Really, not the ideal situation in which to conduct an… interrogation? Whatever the Hell this was. ‘Mixing business with pleasure’ his brain unhelpfully supplied. He downed most of his tumbler of liquid diabetes in an effort to shut it up, scowling at the back of the other customer’s head. “You don’t seem..?” He prompted, when ‘Jimmy’ turned back from the rum guy.  
"Hm? Oh, right." His head tipped to the side. So familiar. "I don't really get more than a buzz."  
'He doesn't realise' a voice in Crowley's head said. 'He doesn't know what he is.' His smile tightened: he hid it behind his glass, draining the dregs. "That sounds like a challenge." He made a show of checking his watch again. "Forty minutes until you turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella." Shaking his empty glass, he licked his lips, oh so subtly. "Do we have time to share an Angel's Kiss?"  
Crowley watched Jimmy's eyes tracked the movement of his tongue over his lips. _Hook, line_. Jimmy chuckled softly, finishing his own drink. "I think we have time to share a few Angel's Kisses," he replied, even as he shyly averted his eyes, before turning to make the drinks.  
Well. Wasn't this just a turn-up for the books? Crowley watched him bend to get cream from one of the refrigerators behind the bar. The memory of his last view through the mirror jostled to the forefront of his mind and Crowley sucked in a deep breath. Cleared his throat quietly. Pleasure seemed to want precedence over business right now... What the heck. It'd be terribly unfair of him to toast the little chicken in his current state without no even knowing what that state was. And Crowley had to admit that this new version of Castiel was somewhat... improved? "To your health." He made sure their fingers brushed when he took the offered glass with its syrupy layers. Watched the bob of his throat as ‘Jimmy’ easily downed his drink. The other bartender who was now serving a small group of college kids cast Crowley an unreadable look which he returned with a smirk. _Tough luck, darling. He's mine for the duration._ Crowley didn't get drunk, not without some serious application, but something a little thrilling inside him was blooming. He gave a little gesture of his right hand and the drone of chart rubbish over the speakers changed to Freda Payne. Much better. "I've not met anyone who could match me drink for drink before." His gaze searched ‘Jimmy’s’ face. "Sexy Blue Eyes."  
‘Jimmy’ stared right back, searching Crowley's face. He opened his mouth to respond and then his eyes narrowed.  "I..." He paused. "The drink. Sexy Blue Eyes. Right." He turned, clearly flustered, and quickly made two drinks, not meeting Crowley's eye.  
When Crowley took the offered shot he watched ‘Jimmy’s’ hands rather than his face. Elegant hands. Capable. Oh, what those hands could do. Crowley lifted his chin, caught his lower lip briefly between his teeth. "That's a drink too? Well, I never." Did those hands shake? He tipped back the shot. Raised his gaze to ‘Jimmy’. "Another peach one. Whod've thunk it?"  
‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise at that, staring at Crowley's lips instead of his eyes. He shook his head, smiling gently before he quickly took the shot. A hand placed casually, palm up on the bar, Crowley looked up at his angelic bartender. "Fifteen minutes, Mr..?" The Temptations started up over the speakers.  
Jimmy's lips twitched up at that and he finally met Crowley's eyes. "You know, as a bartender it's not in my best interest to give every customer my last name," he pointed out. "You may be a psychotic alcoholic, hunt me down, and kill me."  
Oh, darling. If only you knew. Crowley’s train of thought was interrupted by a woman, leaning across the bar in front of him. "Jimmyyyy," she wheedled, "You're off soon, aren't you? You should let me take you home."  
Crowley addressed ‘Jimmy’, but his poisonous glare was shot directly at the woman. "Quite sensible, I'd say," his voice was still a carefully controlled purr. "You never know what trash you might accidentally pick up." He looked back at ‘Jimmy’, gave him his sweetest smile, lips tight. "One for the road, champ? If you're about to head off with this... Charming young thing?"  
‘Jimmy’ sighed and gave his head a little shake, looking more than a bit frustrated. "I have to feed my cat," he excused her, eyes moving to Crowley, pleading. "What would you like?"  
"Ten minutes," Crowley murmured. He didn't bother disguising it; allowed himself to stare at that wide soft mouth. _Increase the urgency, get what you want._ Over the speakers, the chiming intro to ‘The First Cut is the Deepest’ struck up. Crowley’s foot tapped against the bottom rung of his bar stool. "Hmmm. Am I allowed to ask your cat's name, if you won't give me yours?"  
"Whiskers," ‘Jimmy’ answered, "I couldn't decide whether to name him that or Bill, so I flipped a coin. It came up tails."  
"Oh, I'd love to meet Whiskers," the girl said enthusiastically, "That's so cute."  
‘Jimmy’ looked at Crowley with wide eyes, pouring himself a shot of whisky and shooting in. Crowley's mouth quirked up at one corner. Was he really giving him the 'save me' eyes? Indulging in social anaesthetic? _Castiel_? And for a moment there Crowley had been almost... _Well_... No, jealous would be absolutely the wrong word. Completely ignoring the woman Crowley leaned further over the bar, tone confiding. "I have a dog. Back home. She's called Juliet. So, now we're acquainted with one another's pets..." He shot a sly glare at the woman propping up the bar. "I think that... _You_ would..." His voice dropped further still, in volume and pitch, soft as silk, "very much enjoy... A Royal Fuck."  
He licked his lips. The angel actually licked his lips, and Crowley saw his shudder, quite clearly. He was ignoring the woman now, completely – she was pouting at the loss of attention. "Will this _Royal Fuck_ be from you as well?" ‘Jimmy’ asked, that delightful voice as grit-and-honey as ever, and Crowley would be double-damned if he ever thought he’d hear those words from those prim lips – definitely something to file away for later.  
"Absolutely." Just above a whisper. Crowley rested his chin on one hand, one finger stroking absently over his lips. "Unless, of course, you think I might be a psychotic alcoholic..."  
‘Jimmy's’ eyes charted the motion of Crowley's finger over his lips. "I'll take my chances," he murmured.  
"In that case... It's a shooter. Crown Royal, peach schnapps, cranberry." He watched ‘Jimmy’ watch him. Tried not to smirk as the woman beside him turned away with an exaggerated huff. "I know you like it sweet and sticky."  
"I'm very aware of the ingredients," Jimmy answered, pulling two shot glasses out. He worked quickly. Expertly. He always was a fast learner-  
"Hey, Jimmy, will you give _me_ a Royal Fuck?"  
Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He briefly contemplated slicing her lengthways, but it would probably blow his cover. At least ‘Jimmy’ appeared to share his sentiment, giving a low groan and sliding one of the shots over to her without saying anything, before pouring a third.  
"Heavens. Our first three-way. And I haven't even taken you to dinner yet." Crowley made sure to direct it out of her earshot, to cover his irritation with the right measure of mischief. He raised his glass to the woman and knocked it back.  
‘Jimmy’ flushed at his comment. "Would've preferred it be just the two of us," he whispered.  
That made Crowley smile, pure triumph. He slipped down from the stool and nodded towards the card machine. "Settle up? You have to go and feed Whiskers, in... Oh, three minutes." He pulled out his wallet, discreetly. As ‘Jimmy’s’ back was turned, a handwritten something fluttered into being between Crowley's fingers. Folding the note containing one of his phone numbers into a ten dollar bill he passed it over the bar. "Service above and beyond the call of duty, love."  
‘Jimmy’s’ smile was bright, especially when he noticed the paper. "Thank you very much, Mister Crowley. It's been a pleasure."  
That feeling, right there, at those words - Crowley swallowed hard - that was victory, right? That was - that's what it was. That's _all_ it was. He let his gaze linger, agreeing. "The pleasure was all mine, Jimmy," he said. "Have a nice night." As he walked back towards the doors, the music switched, from Motown back to modern r’n’b. He paused as he pushed the door open. Looked back. Just part of the act, naturally.  
‘Jimmy’ was watching him leave. The woman was still talking to him, but he was ignoring her. _He was watching_. Crowley ducked his head to hide his triumphant little smile. The doors closed behind him. In a blink, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Text flirting and quality time with the hellhound.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

 

_I'd like to take you to dinner. Just the two of us. Fergus._

 

The note was carefully folded in Jimmy's pocket as he walked home from the bar, thankfully alone. It'd taken some time, but he'd managed to get Heather off of him, with the help of his co-worker. The one downside to his job was being hit on like that. Even if he were interested there was no class to it, no witty banter like he had with Crowley. Fergus... what a strange name. At least it wasn't Aleister.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, watching a man pass with his dog and imagined Crowley at home with his own dog, Juliet. Jimmy liked dogs. They were friendly. Smiling to himself he strode up to the stairs of his apartment complex, heading for 462.

In nearly every romantic comedy he'd seen or read rules were listed. One being that you were supposed to wait a X amount of days before calling somebody after they gave you their number (the amount of days changed from story to story). Well, Jimmy wasn’t ready to wait three days to a week to speak with Crowley again. Besides, in all of those stories it turned out they could have contacted right away.

Jimmy unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside. Whiskers didn't run to the door. He was a cat, after all, not a dog, but there was a faint meow as he closed the door, locking it once more.

“Whiskers!” He called, feeling happy, mellow. He walked to the kitchen, opening a can of food, smiled when he heard his cat come running. He poured the food into a bowl, scratched between the cat’s ears as he immediately began to eat, and went to sit on the couch.

He pulled out his phone, pulled out the note, and typed in the number. His fingers hovered over the letters before he typed a text.

 

_Novak._

 

He hit send, glanced at the clock. 2:15am.

 

_I'm sorry it's late. I just got home._

 

Send. He worried his lower lip.

 

_When would you like to have dinner?_

 

Jimmy tapped his foot nervously. Did he really just send three texts in a row to a man he barely knew, in the middle of the night? How painfully idiotic. He didn't have much time to worry though. A response came in quickly.

 

**_That's quite alright, Mr. Novak. I'm rather a night-owl myself. Especially when I'm watching my phone._ **

**_When’s your next evening free?_ **

 

Jimmy found himself grinning at his phone. Whiskers stared at him and he felt strongly as if the cat were judging him.

 

_Were you waiting for me?_

_Thursday._

 

Almost immediately, his phone screen lit up again.

 

**_Of course not. I was staring at my reflection in the screen._ **

**_Would you let me take you to dinner, Thursday?_ **

 

Jimmy laughed and Whiskers turned away from him, clearly disappointed in his human.

 

_Oh, I see. It is a handsome reflection. I can't blame you._

_Hmm...I do have to eat._

 

The little ‘replying’ ellipses started to bob onscreen the moment Jimmy tapped ‘send’.

 

**_I admire a boy with taste._ **

**_Do you really? Meet me outside of your bar at 7. Wear a tie._ **

 

A slow grin spread across Jimmy’s face.

 

_Only a tie? I could lose my job, Mister Crowley._

 

The screen flashed.

 

**_Let me buy you dinner first, and then we'll see._ **

 

Jimmy laughed once more and Whiskers left the bed. “Don't be rude!” He called after his cat.

 

_Oh, clothes and a tie. I see. My mistake._

 

An instant reply:

 

**_For the restaurant at least._ **

 

Jimmy felt his cheeks flushing slightly and he shifted a bit, enjoying this all too much.

 

_I'm keeping my tie on no matter what now._

 

**_I'll hold you to that._ **

 

_I should hope so._

 

**_Sweet dreams._ **

 

_I won't be cheesy and say if you're there._

 

**_Of course not. You barely know me._ **

 

Jimmy deflated at that. Right. He barely knew him. Stupid. He bit his lip, fingers running over the keypad, not sure what to say now. His cheeks were burning, but it didn't feel as nice as before. He'd been flirting so well, and then he had to go and say that. He sighed, typing his reply.

 

_Right. Well. Good night._

 

He placed his phone to the side and went to retrieve Whiskers, much to the cat’s dismay (though once in bed he curled up near Jimmy's feet again). Turning the lights off he climbed into bed, and tried not to dwell.

 

Crowley sank back against the couch, tapping his phone against his lips, a slight frown creasing his brows.

Thursday at 7.

Castiel needed to _eat_ , after all. Crowley exhaled, a long slow breath. Still that little something niggling, _what are you up to, angel?_ but whilst he was quite certain the Hammer of God was absolutely clever enough to be executing some mysterious plan, acting was never his forte, and this was - Crowley sighed again, bemused. The flirting, for a start - where in heaven did he learn that? _Just a tie;_ Crowley tried very, very hard not to picture it, but the mental image was quite… attention-focusing. Eating. _Sleeping_ (not that Crowley had watched him do that for hours on end through the mirror like some kind of creepy slumbering screensaver). Crowley would quite believe from the evidence he’d gathered so far that his mother’s spell had left Castiel human and amnesiac, except that his grace was _there_ , intact, simmering as always just beneath his vessel’s perfect skin... It was maddening. His mother’s spell, though... Crowley turned his thoughts to it yet again. There was no telling how it would affect an angel; no precedent for it at all. Magic as powerful as the _Impetus Bestiarum_ or even the _Desiderium Cordis_ could snuff out a human in hours, but who really knew what long term effect it would have on a being as powerful as an angel? Castiel had survived it, that much was obvious, and that alone made him, as far as Crowley knew, unique amongst the spell’s victims. This _human_ business though - no, it couldn’t just be common witchcraft. The angel had to be pulling some kind of stunt. And the only way to find out what, was to draw more information out of him. A quiet, private dinner, away from the irksome interruptions of that dreadful bar he’d for some reason gained employment in. Then back to his place and - well. Crowley shifted on the couch. No matter how much he tried to get comfortable there was still that strange nagging little feeling prickling at him, like he couldn’t rest until he’d seen Castiel again. But wasn’t that the whole crux of the plan? Get him alone. And then eradicate him.

The thought should have given Crowley more satisfaction, but it was still underpinned by a sense of uneasiness. Something felt… missing. He usually relished the quiet of his quarters, away from the pestering and anguished screams and ever-present soft elevator music of Hell, but tonight his lounge felt strangely empty. Giving a low whistle, he tapped his palm against the armrest of the Chesterfield. Immediately, he was answered by the scuffling sound of claws clicking on the blond wooden boards. "There's my girl."

He next-to-never had the hounds in his private quarters. Never. But something about him mentioning Juliet to Castiel... Crowley sat at full height but still had to reach up to tug at the creature's ears. "What's that you've got? Show Daddy." A blast of hell-hot breath and Juliet dropped what she'd been chewing on into his lap. Crowley picked it up. A human ear, still with a cute little heart-shaped earring fastened through the lobe. Crowley smiled, offering it back to her. "That's my good girl. Lie down." There's one thing about hellhounds: when they lie flat, they're the perfect height to rest your feet on. Crowley crossed his at the ankles, feeling the strangely soothing rise and fall of the beast’s rib cage, her low menacing growl as she worried at her chew toy. He fished the TV remote from under a cushion and flicked on the History channel, settling back on the couch with the slightest of frowns on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note, AO3 keeps putting 'chapter by the FierceBeast' presumably because I'm posting them, however every chapter was co-written, RPG-style, by both of us :) x


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first date...

The days before Thursday seemed to drag on endlessly. Jimmy felt restless at work, at home, watching TV, playing with Whiskers. He couldn't focus on his book and found himself reading the same pages over and over. It was ridiculous; but this was all so new to him. He'd been with a woman, briefly, but that was the extent of his romantic endeavors. He so rarely found himself feeling this way. Beyond his family there had never been anyone of much importance to him. He could only hope he wouldn't mess this up.

Thursday couldn't come fast enough.

 

Three different outfits lay on the bed. The door was closed to keep Whiskers from shedding all over them. Jimmy stared. A pair of dark jeans, a white button up, a black tie: that didn't seem enough. A pair of black slacks, a black button up, and a dark blue tie: he was leaning toward that. Last was a suit, black and white, complete with a bow tie. He'd worn it when he'd ran the bar at a wedding. It was over the top. Eventually he settled on the second option and went off to shower.

 

Two hours later he was walking to the bar. Despite his efforts to tame his hair he'd then ran his fingers through it, completely undoing his work and making it even messier than usual. Perhaps he was nervous.

He arrived five minutes early and looked around. The night was young, so there weren't many cars in the lot, and Crowley wasn't there yet. That was understandable. Jimmy made a habit of being early and didn’t expect anyone else to follow that. He slipped his hands into his pockets and let the minutes drag on.

It was 7.30 on the dot when a car unlike any Jimmy had seen slowed to a stop in front of O’Hanrahan’s entrance. It was big and black, foreign, old-looking. A back window rolled down and Jimmy tentatively approached.

“Get in loser, we're going to dinner.”

Jimmy barked out a laugh of surprise as Crowley's familiar purr came out, and the door nearest him swung open. Some of the tension left his body as he slipped in. “Mean Girls?”

“One of my favorites.” Crowley flashed a brilliant smile as the car pulled out smoothly. They had a driver, but Crowley paid no attention to her. His eyes were solely on Jimmy, causing a flush that he ignored.

“I never would have guessed,” Jimmy replied with amusement.

"You wouldn't? High school comedies; good practice for politics." His cheeks dimpled as he smiled. "You look nice. I hope you're not a vegetarian; where we're going the steak is to _die for_." The last two words were perhaps a little emphasised. Crowley smoothed out the creases in his immaculate black suit pants (same style of all-black ensemble that Jimmy had seen him in before, except even in the dim lighting of the car, his tie looked to be a very pale blue instead of silver paisley) and then casually placed his hand palm-down on the cream leather seat between them.

Jimmy chuckled, giving a small shrug as if to say he couldn't disagree with that. He ducked his head briefly before looking back up. "I am certainly not vegetarian. Burgers are one of my favorite things." He glanced at the hand resting on the seat and tentatively reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of it.

"Good to hear. I like a man with appetite." Crowley’s tone was teasing as ever but he caught his bottom lip between his teeth just momentarily as he looked down at their hands, looking like he was suppressing a smile. Turning away, Crowley looked out of the window at the passing lights, his hand moving to link his smallest finger with Jimmy's. Was he being shy?

Jimmy grinned a little to himself, pleased at the reaction. It was… cute. That was new. He curled his pinky finger a little bit. "Do you work in politics then?" He asked, voice soft.

"You could say that. It's... complicated, and I'm told very dull if you're not in the business." Crowley turned back to look at Jimmy. "I could go into it, if you like-? I mean, it's contracts mainly, acquisitions. Like your standard assets purchase agreement, in consideration of the mutual covenants hereinafter set forth, etc, etc-" he raised an eyebrow as if waiting for the cue to continue or not. Jimmy listened with interest, head tipped slightly to the side. It wasn’t something he understood very well, but he wanted to know more about Crowley. He took his hand fully in his own and nodded for him to continue. "If I'm honest, darling, it's pretty much just glorified sales, closing and collection. It's just that the assets I deal in are... well, more valuable than your average mobile-phone hawker shills. And I oversee the legal side too. Contracts." One thumb began to stroke gently across the back of Jimmy's hand, making him smile. “I suppose some folk might find it glamourous but it's sure not as much fun as mixing cocktails."

Jimmy chuckled. “Though I'm sure it pays better.” Not that he care much about that.

"Mmm," Crowley said, softly. "Well I don't do it for relaxation, that's for certain." The car began to slow, the black-suited driver pulling the antiquated-looking stick-shift into first. "I do believe this is us. Allow me." When the car rolled to a halt, Crowley got out, circling around the rear of it to open Jimmy's door.

"Such a gentleman," Jimmy said as he stepped out of the car, looking around. He was certain he'd never been somewhere this fancy in his life.

The car pulled away as Crowley led the way to the large up-lit glass doors set back from the sidewalk. A uniformed doorman opened one and waved them in with a smile that reached all the way to his perfect teeth. That confirmed Jimmy’s suspicions. The hostess who sailed over to meet them could have been the door guy's twin. "Mr Crowley? And... guest." Well, Crowley must have been a regular.

"That's correct, love."  
"This way, gentlemen, please."

Jimmy looked around, feeling a bit out of place somewhere so elegant. His eyes darted to Crowley, seeking comfort in the familiar.

 

They were led into a large, bright space, all elegant modernist furniture, minimal shade palette and statement lighting. The only accents of colour outside of the black, white, neutral and chrome were some improbable-looking oversized lilac pom-pom flower arrangements. The tables were set a lot further apart than seemed economical for the space. Crowley placed a hand lightly, briefly, to the small of Jimmy's back, causing him to straighten, as he indicated where he should sit. Sitting down, Jimmy placed his hands in his lap, and watched his date, searching for cues on how to act in such an extravagant setting.

Crowley smiled smoothly at the hostess as she took her leave, accepted the wine list that the Maître d’ who glided over in her wake handed to him. The man hovered, staring discreetly between them, as Crowley carried on talking as if he wasn't there. Jimmy couldn't help noticing the looks. He'd always been able to tell when someone was looking at him; he could feel it, and it was making him uncomfortable. Crowley seemed oblivious. "I thought we'd skip drinks, come straight to the table. Hope you don't mind." He looked around. They were one of only three occupied tables in the place. "It's early for dinner but I thought we could maybe go on somewhere afterwards..." He nodded to the list "any preference?"

Jimmy glanced at the Maître d’ and leaned forward, lowering his voice so that only Crowley could hear him. "We don't sell wines this nice at O'Hanrahan's," he admitted, cheeks flushed.

"Perfect," Crowley passed the list back, not missing a beat. "We'll go with the Riesling Vendages Tardives."

"Glass, sir?"

"Half bottle. To start with." He lowered his voice conspiratorially as the Maître d’ nodded and left. "You like white, right?"

Jimmy felt himself relax as he realized what had happened there, that Crowley had made it seem as if he'd made the decision. “Yes. Thank you,” he said gratefully.

"Then you'll like this. So-" He hesitated as another server descended, offering them each a menu card. Castiel smiled politely at the server, trying not to show that he was bothered at the interruption. When he spoke it was mainly gibberish with a bit of English thrown in to make it all the more confusing.   
"Good evening gentlemen. The specials today are whole roasted Maine Lobster with a black truffle sabayon, and organic rotisserie poussin with thyme and black trumpet mushrooms." He hovered, looking expectant.  
"Thanks." Crowley said, baring his teeth. "What do you fancy, angel? I've heard good things about the New York sirloin."

"Well, you did get my hopes up for steak," Jimmy answered, "So that sounds nice."

Crowley turned back to the server, who was looking, if anything, surprised to be taking an order immediately. "Filet mignon Carpacio to start, twice, and two New York sirloin with the caramelised shallots and a side of truffle and Parmesan French fries." He took Jimmy's menu card and handed them both decidedly back to the server. "Cheers, mate." The young man's expression went from ever so slightly surprised to a shade too close to disdainful. Jimmy narrowed his eyes, not appreciating his date being on the receiving end of that look. Crowley grinned at him. "Now, where were we?"

Jimmy huffed slightly, looking back to Crowley. “I'm not sure. You'd gotten as far as ‘so’.”

"So..." Crowley inclined his head, one forefinger drawing shapes on the thick white damask table cloth; circles and triangles, lines cutting through them. Jimmy felt something akin to deja vu. “I think that you were going to tell me your life story?"

“Oh, was I?”

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Jimmy flushed, ducking his head. "There's not a lot to tell," he admitted, looking back up. "I have two brothers. Both younger. We don't talk much. They travel a lot. Our parents died in a car accident when we I was in my early twenties. I came here for a change of pace from our hometown in Kansas. It's not all that interesting.”

"On the contrary," Crowley looked at him, hard, keeping eye contact, "I find it very interesting. Kansas boy, eh? I've visited Kansas quite a bit. What town are you from?"

Jimmy stared back, surprised at the level of interest Crowley seemed to have. "Lawrence.”

Crowley's eyebrows raised. "I know it." He said. He nodded to the Maître d' as he returned with the wine. "Sorry to hear about your folks though. Were you close?" He darted a glance at the man lingering by their table for Crowley's word of approval on the wine. Taking the hint, the man left.

Jimmy gave a small shrug. "My mom and I were a bit close. She was kind. Beautiful." He smiled sadly. "Not so much my father and I, but it was still painful. It's okay, though. It's been awhile."

"I suppose that kind of pain never really goes away." A brief odd look crossed Crowley's face like clouds. Jimmy noted it, wondered if he'd lost someone as well, but didn't press the matter. "Eldest child, though - isn't that supposed to be the trickiest?"

"I suppose. My brothers were always closer to each other. I was closest to Dean – he’s the next eldest - but we were family."

"Dean?" It came out sharply, and Jimmy blinked in surprise, but Crowley's expression immediately softened. "So, how come you don't see your brothers now, if that's not too personal a question?"

"They're just busy doing their own thing," he said, "I've travelled with them a few times, but it's a bit cramped for three men. And I like… stability."

"What is it that they do, then? Travelling around?"

"Odd jobs," Jimmy answered, "Pest control. Sales. Sometimes Dean works on cars when he's lucky. That's always nice. He should have taken over our uncle's salvage yard."

"Your uncle?" Crowley sipped his wine.

Jimmy nodded. "Bobby and Dean used to work on cars a lot together after our father passed."

" _Uncle_ Bobby, huh." Crowley nodded again. "Sounds like a lovely family you have there."

Jimmy smiled at that. "They've mostly been very wonderful," he agreed.

"You're a lucky fella." Crowley smiled, gently. "Ah. First course is here."

Jimmy hummed in agreement. He settled in when their food was brought, and waited for the server to leave before he spoke again. "Is that enough for you to show me yours?"

Crowley's mouth quirked up in a lopsided smirk. "I'd have given you more for less, ducky." He spoke as he ate, keeping his eyes on his plate. "Born in Scotland. Moved over here _ahem_ years ago. Only child. Never knew my father. Unfortunately still see my mother."

Jimmy watched Crowley as he spoke, eyeing him curiously. He ate slowly. "I take it your relationship with your mother isn't wonderful?"

Crowley shrugged. "It's a hate-hate relationship. She's a rotten old witch. But I suppose, she's still my mother."

That struck Jimmy as terribly sad, but he didn’t want to prod too much. “Scotland though? That’s fascinating. Why did you come here?”

"For my career. Not much going on in Canisbay unless you're into peat cutting. Or glass blowing now, I suppose."

Jimmy nodded, taking a bite of his food and thinking for a moment. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your accent seems more British than Scottish."

Crowley's smile widened, bright, like he was pleased at that comment. "Lost that for my career, too. Dreadful, isn't it, the things we do to get ahead? English sells better." He placed his cutlery neatly side by side on his plate and leaned forward. "Get enough wine in me and," his accent slipped just slightly, roughening and broadening, "I might go Scots on you."

Jimmy's breath caught at that and he glanced away, tugging lightly at his collar in a way he hoped was casual. "I'll keep that in mind," he said as he looked back.

Crowley's smile grew a little slyer. He'd definitely noticed - was probably used to his native accent having that effect on people. Jimmy flushed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Um...so...did you like it there?” He asked, seeking a distraction.

Crowley leaned back a little, allowing the server to clear his plate. The guy had obviously noted the atmosphere between them too, if his smirk was anything to go by. Jimmy wanted to hide under the table. "The Highlands? I should say something about National Pride and Scotland the Brave here, shouldn't I?" He reached for his wine glass again, drained it, and refilled, topping Jimmy's glass up to more-than-respectably full without asking. That was fine with him. He took a long drink. "It's a beautiful place. But I can't say I miss it. Didn't have what you'd call a chocolate box childhood."

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Crowley pulled a pragmatic face. "The past is the past." He raised his glass, clinking it with Jimmy's. "Here's to the future."

Jimmy smiled at that, lightly clinking their glasses together. "To the future," he agreed before emptying his glass.

It seemed like only minutes before the server was back, fussing around serving second course.

"Is everything satisfactory with your meal this evening, gentlemen?"

By this point Jimmy stopped paying attention to the server, focusing on Crowley. "Very," he answered, not looking away from his date.

Crowley's satisfied smile spread like cream at Jimmy's answer. "Very good, sir." The server said, with a slightly mocking edge to his voice, before disappearing again.   
"They think I'm paying you," Crowley said, conversationally. He stabbed his fork into his carefully-arranged plateful. "These are _really good_ fries."

Jimmy's eyes widened slightly at the comment and he glanced around, remembering every detail of their interactions with other people since they came in. "They think I'm a prostitute?" He asked, looking back to Crowley.

"They think you're out of my league." Crowley held his fork up, turned it slowly as if deeply considering the chunk of rare steak speared on it.

Jimmy frowned. "Well, they're ignorant," he said with a huff, irritated as the pieces fell together.

"Mmmm." Crowley popped the piece of steak into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Jimmy... Why _are_ you interested in me? Because forgive me for being blunt, but you could have your pick of anyone in that bar you work at."

Jimmy furrowed his brow, tipped his head. He reached for Crowley's free hand, stroking his thumb over it as he took a bit of his food, searching for the right words. "There's something about you that feels… different," he said slowly, "And besides, you approached me in a much more sober fashion than most of my patrons."

"Different," Crowley repeated, quietly. He caught the offered hand and squeezed slightly, his touch warm and dry. "Would you like to know why I'm interested in you? Besides the obvious, of course."

Jimmy squeezed back lightly, giving a little hum. "Yes," he admitted, because he wasn't truly sure what it was that interested Crowley.

"You make me feel..." Crowley faltered a little, setting down his fork and clearing his throat quietly. "...like myself. It's as if..." Again, like he'd not thought this confession through fully before volunteering it, "...as if you see me for who I truly am."

Jimmy's smile went soft at that and he squeezed Crowley's hand again. "I'm so glad," he said softly, thumb rubbing over the man's knuckles.

Crowley cleared his throat again, perhaps a little self-consciously. "I'll tell you what, angel. I'm not too keen on the way they've been eyeballing us in here tonight. How about we take off and get dessert somewhere else?"

Jimmy nodded quickly in agreement, loving the idea of going somewhere else. "I'm not fond of it either," he agreed.

Crowley's smile quickly turned - mischievous? Devilish? "I know the perfect place. Why don't you go on ahead and I'll settle up and meet you out front in five?"

Jimmy nodded, giving Crowley's hand one last squeeze before he got to his feet. "I'll be waiting," he said with a smile before heading toward the door. As he passed their server he shot him a nasty look and stepped outside.

His hands slipped into his pockets and he looked around, smiling softly. Despite the rude staff this was turning out to be a very good night. He was quickly finding himself more and more interested in Crowley.

There was a murmur of voices; Crowley bidding a polite if stiff goodnight to the doorman as the front doors closed behind him. He walked briskly over to where Jimmy stood, hands buried in his pants pockets and what could only be described as an evil grin breaking onto his face. Falling into strangely quick step beside Jimmy, Crowley glanced backwards over his shoulder at the entrance doors, let out a sudden burst of laughter, his hand clapped to Jimmy's shoulder and hissed, "Run!"

Jimmy's eyes widened in surprise. He had no idea what had happened, but he took a glance back as well and began running, taking Crowley's advice without asking for the moment.

They'd got a couple of blocks when Crowley pulled him to a halt, breathing hard and shaking with laughter. Between the confusion and excitement Jimmy was laughing as well. "I think we've probably lost them. I hope we have; I'm not built for sprinting."

“What did you do?!”

"What, you've never skipped out on a restaurant bill?"

Jimmy gasped at that and swatted Crowley on the arm. "Shame on you!" He exclaimed, but there was a little grin on his face.

"What, choirboy? They were being unconscionably rude to us." He looked very pleased at Jimmy's reaction. "If it bothers you, they know perfectly well who I am and they know perfectly well I'm rich as Hell. I'll settle up when I'm ready. I was just feeling," his grin widened, "a tad naughty this evening." He offered his arm, "Now... I don't know about you, but I could go for something sweet."

Jimmy laughed softly and slipped his arm into Crowley's. Placing a second hand on it he leaned in to whisper in the man's ear. "Don't pay them." He pulled back, speaking normally. "Something sweet sounds wonderful."

Something definitely changed in Crowley's expression, then. He didn't look at Jimmy, but straight ahead, drawn up to his full 5'8", bottom lip caught between his teeth. Contemplative. Setting off at a far more sedate pace towards the river.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date continued.

‘Jimmy’ kept his arm curled around Crowley's, a happy smile on his face as he followed quite trustingly wherever Crowley was choosing to lead him. The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon: spring was fast budding, but after dark the air still took on a sharp edge. Crowley glanced up at the man huddled at his side. Shirt sleeves. Did he actually feel the cold now? Was that possible, or... psychological? Is that why he was holding on so tight? Crowley cleared his throat quietly. "You warm enough there? It's gone a bit nippy; it'll be worse on the waterfront."  
"I'm fine," Jimmy replied, "I don't get cold very easily." He stroked Crowley's arm. "What about you?"  
"Got my own padding, twiglet." Crowley hoped ‘Jimmy’ caught his wink, was glad for his jacket that ‘Jimmy’ couldn’t notice how the hairs rose perplexingly up on Crowley's forearms at that touch. No human suffering of temperature, then. Crowley steered them left at the next crossroads and the air carried a wet brown slap of river scent with it, laced with frying sugar. "Follow your nose."  
‘Jimmy’ let out a playful huff, lips twitching with amusement. He breathed in deeply through his nose and made a pleased noise. "Mm... water, earth...sugar. Where are you taking me?"  
"Doughnuts, you doughnut. There's a great little van parks down here." They crossed the road. The van's red and white siding strobed under festooned rope lights that blinked in sequence, red, blue, red - Crowley glanced at his companion. ‘Jimmy’ was looking off, out across the wide expanse of river, the tiniest suggestion of a smile on his lips. Crowley swallowed: he heard it loud in his own ears. "You want a bag? Cinnamon?"  
"That sounds nice," ‘Jimmy’ said, eyes not moving from the river. "Do you smell it all, Fergus? The water mixed with the dirt? The mineral? All the little particles?"  
"Only my mother calls me that," Crowley said. But he said it quietly. Something about the way ‘Jimmy’ said that name he should absolutely regret divulging to him made it seem... not so bad after all. Still a venereal disease, but maybe the fun kind: Crowley snorted a little laugh. "You should go into scent testing if you can get all that from a dirty old river." He peered sideways at him, watching carefully.  
‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise, eyes flicking over to Crowley again. He turned to him, ducking his head in a bashful way. "I've never met anyone who could smell things the way I do. I thought I'd ask."  
"If you tell me that you have no body odour like that lad in Perfume, I may have to back slowly away."  
‘Jimmy’ blinked, head tipping to the side, brows furrowing just so. "I don't understand that reference."  
So much like the old Castiel that Crowley all but - what? Reached for his blade? Reached for Cas? He exhaled a long, steadying breath. What was wrong with him? With both of them? He needed to get away, process this newfound intelligence, but... he didn't want to leave. "Doesn't matter. It's a terrible story anyway. Not a single car chase. Here," he handed ‘Jimmy’ one of the two bags of doughnuts. "Tell me how these smell, Jean-Baptiste." Turning briefly back to the van, he nodded at the vendor and covertly stuffed a twenty in the tip jar.  
"Mean Girls has no car chases either." Jimmy took a bag and opened it, pressing his face into it.  
"Mean Girls has mean girls, though. Balances out the lack of mindless violence."  
Crowley watched, helplessly fascinated, as ‘Jimmy’ inhaled deeply, then pulled his face back out to look at Crowley. "Dough, sugar, cinnamon." He paused, seeming to think. "Rubber. These were made with gloved hands. That's reassuring."  
"You can get all that, huh. I'm starting to get paranoid at my choice of cologne." Crowley cradled his own bag of artery clogging goodness. His wasn't an angelic level of sensitivity - thank Hell - but he sure got some of it. The grit of the powdered sugar beneath his fingers, the hot grease soaking the paper bag transparent. He came to a halt at the waterfront. There were rows of benches: he stepped up on one, sat on the back with feet planted on the seat part, fishing in the bag for his first doughnut.  
‘Jimmy’ laughed as he sat on the bench, leaning in so his nose was pressed in against Crowley's neck. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed in his scent. Crowley froze. "Very... woody," he whispered against his skin, "Leather. A hint of citrus. And... struck matches." He breathed in again. "It's very nice."  
It had been a while since Crowley had felt that heat crawling up the back of his neck, prickling his scalp. A long, long while. ‘Jimmy’s’ breath was warm against his neck. His nose felt cold. His lips, almost touching... Crowley popped the last bite of doughnut into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. He was actually bloody sniffing him. Sucking the sugar off his own fingers was not a distraction; it was not a good idea. Crowley shifted on the bench and willed away the sudden urge to turn his head and claim those lips. "I'm glad you approve. And relieved it stands up to scrutiny."  
‘Jimmy’ chuckled against Crowley's throat, nosing at it gently before he pulled back, seeming a bit reluctant to do so. "It was a good choice," he said before pulling a doughnut from his bag and taking a bite, closing his eyes. "Mmm... another good choice.”  
Had Crowley ever seen Castiel laugh? It suited him. His eyes crinkled, little straight white teeth... so human. Powdered sugar stuck to his wide pale lips as he chewed his doughnut: Crowley licked his own lips. In the mostly-darkness the skin of ‘Jimmy’s’ throat looked blue, smooth: Crowley suddenly wanted very badly to lick there, too. He pushed the thought away. Gather information. 'Yes' said his better judgement 'but why can't you have some fun while you're researching?'  
Leaning sideways just slightly, Crowley rested his head against ‘Jimmy’s’ shoulder: ‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise and rested his head against Crowley’s, sucking the sugar from his fingers slowly and licking his lips.  
Crowley tilted his head to look at him, awkward angle, too close-up, blurry. "You... missed a bit, just... there." Hell no, the King of Hell did not get nervous. All part of the act. Reaching up tentatively, Crowley wiped a scatter of sugar from the corner of ‘Jimmy’s’ mouth.  
‘Jimmy’ made a questioning noise before tipping his head down. "Oh." And he wrapped his lips around the tip of Crowley's thumb, sucking off the sugar.  
Something in Crowley lit and flared. His whole world zoomed in on the sensation of wet velvet dragging across the pad of his thumb. The voice in his head said 'is this catastrophe for real?' It said 'is he actually coming onto you? Or - nope, definitely still an angel. No human has that terrible a grasp of social convention.' It said, 'you should kiss him anyway.'  
Crowley's thumb left a glistening swipe of spit across ‘Jimmy’s’ cheek as he moved his hand to cradle one side of his face, brought the other hand up to stroke the other side. Facing now, close enough to share breath. Crowley's voice was low, barely audible above the flow of the river, the rush of traffic. "I'd very much like to kiss you, right now."  
‘Jimmy's’ eyes flicked from Crowley's lips, to his eyes, back again. He tentatively brought his hand to Crowley's neck. "I'd very much like it if you did," he whispered.  
His right hand slipped around, fingers sinking into thick dark hair as he pulled ‘Jimmy’ to him. Gentle, keep it gentle - the demon inside raged, reared it's head and demanded. Lips pressed soft against Crowley's lips, wet and sweet and sugar-sticky. Crowley heard himself moan. Mustered all his restraint to keep it slow.  
A shiver ran down ‘Jimmy's’ spine, hand sliding to the back of Crowley's neck, fingers curling lightly, holding him there as he kissed slowly, lips parting just slightly, answering Crowley’s moan. Teeth sank down lightly into Crowley's lower lip before he swiped his tongue over it.  
"I want to..." Crowley’s whisper was lost against warm lips, his mouth opening, tongue on teeth, seeking permission. His fingertips ruffled through ‘Jimmy’s’ hair, trailed down his jaw, mapping the prickle of stubble, the subtle flicker of muscle.  
‘Jimmy’s’ tongue flicked lightly over Crowley's and he let out a soft noise of pleasure, hand pushing into the back of Crowley’s hair, fingers curling slightly. "You want to what?" He whispered.  
Devour, consume, conquer, own, right here right now on this pitiful downtown park bench: broken, mad, unwitting angel all ripe for the having... Crowley's voice was raw. Shaking with rare restraint. "Sweetheart, I could just... eat you up." He pressed a path of kisses across ‘Jimmy’s’ jaw, over his jumping pulse, so deceptively fragile beneath his lips. "You're perfect. You've ruined me." One hand tilted ‘Jimmy’s’ chin up, angling, as he captured his mouth again. Less gentle this time, an urgent slide of lips and tongue and hitching breath. ‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise, somewhere between a whine and moan. Fingers tugged on Crowley's hair and he kissed back with equal urgency as he pressed in closer. His hand gripped Crowley's shoulder, fingers digging in lightly, coaxing a rumbling growl from Crowley. Arms moved to circle ‘Jimmy’s’ waist, gathering him tighter, tugging his shirt tails free, hands slipping against smooth warm skin. Overwhelmed by the memory of that body, glimpsed, shower-wet, Crowley groaned into their kiss, hands roaming lower. ‘Jimmy’ shuddered. He let out a quiet moan and broke the kiss, breath coming heavy. "We...we shouldn't...right here...people."  
Leaning in, Crowley chased the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, lust-glazed, as ‘Jimmy’, flustered, pulled away. "Let them watch," Crowley said. Jimmy whined softly, fingers fisting briefly in Crowley's shirt before releasing. Licking his lips slowly, Crowley recovered himself, "I'm - you're right. Of course." His fingertips trailed a last shaky caress across the small of ‘Jimmy’s’ back as he withdrew. But nothing could have stopped him from reaching up and running a hand through that tousled hair. "A bloke could get carried away easily with you, pet."  
‘Jimmy’ arched into the touch, let out a breathless chuckle. "You're one to talk," he said, eyes darting briefly to Crowley's lips and then to his eyes.  
"You make me feel like a bloody teenager again." Crowley started to lean in, all instinct, checked himself, biting his lip. "I could kiss you all night."  
‘Jimmy’ ducked his head, smiling a bit shyly. "That would be very nice," he admitted, looking up through dark lashes.  
Those damned luminous eyes. The damned innocent act. Crowley had witnessed this creature kill whole rooms full of humans with its mind... His eyes strayed again to ‘Jimmy’s’ kiss-soft mouth, and all coherent thought went magically poof, like an exorcised spirit. "But I suppose I should probably, ah, walk you home?" He managed. "Or, you know, call the car."  
‘Jimmy’ bit his lip, reaching out to rub his hand over Crowley's arm lightly. "If you promise I'll see you again soon. Preferably somewhere people don't think I've been bought." His eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. "Where they're more respectful."  
"Your place?" The words were out before Crowley thought them through, but on second thoughts - his subconscious was a genius; full points to his libido for making decisions for his brain. Get into the flat. Have a good poke around for evidence. He barely glanced at his phone as he fired off a text; GPS location all that was necessary. "You have my solemn word I'll be absolutely nothing but respectful." He bit down on a wicked grin.  
Jimmy's breath caught slightly at that, but after a moment he nodded. "Well, I can't speak for Whiskers, but I would respect you, too," he teased. "I could make you dinner if you'd like."  
"I'd like." He really would. Huh. How about that. 'Dangerous' Crowley's voice of caution warned him, as he roundly flipped it off. "I wasn't going to say, but I could take or leave seeing you again - it's Whiskers I'm really angling to meet."  
‘Jimmy’ grinned widely at that, eyes crinkling a bit. "Well, you should know it's a very important meeting. If he doesn't like you I'm not sure we can see each other again," he said solemnly, lips twitching as he fought a smile.  
"I better make sure I bring along a decent bribe then hadn't I?"  
“You better.”  
That smile was doing things to him. Unexpected things. Freaky angel mojo, it had to be. He'd do well to be on his guard... Or, just - Crowley caught him gently by both wrists, leaned in to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose, earning him a happy noise from ‘Jimmy’. "...ah, bugger." He pulled back, nodding over ‘Jimmy’s’ shoulder. "Mom's here to pick us up." He winced a bit getting down from his perch, held out a hand, which ‘Jimmy’ accepted, hopping down from the bench after him. "Probably for the best, that bench was starting to kill my arse."  
‘Jimmy’s’ tone was downright teasing. "It's too bad we'll be with Mom. I'd offer to massage it."  
"Did I ever tell you about Mom's very liberal approach to parenting?" Crowley asked smoothly as he opened the rear car door. He raised his voice, "Isn't that true, Mom?"  
"Sir?"  
"You have a very liberal approach to parenting."  
"Erm... Yes?" The driver’s tone said she was well-used to just going along with any bizarre line of thought.  
Crowley turned back to ‘Jimmy’ and raised his eyebrows, mock-suggestively.  
‘Jimmy’ bit back a laugh at that, sliding in the car. He looked at Crowley and raised his brows, giving a little shrug.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes to Jimmy's apartment, but things don't go as planned.

In the end they decided to take a rain check on the ass massage. Despite the way Jimmy had acted he'd gotten nervous once it got to it. It probably didn't help that when he glanced in the rear view mirror he saw black eyes. 

Otherwise the ride home went well. There was a goodnight kiss (less heated than the last) that left him floating as he went inside. When he walked into the apartment, grinning to himself, he caught Whiskers staring at him. 

“Don't judge me.”

 

“Now, you listen,” Jimmy said firmly, holding Whiskers in his lap as the cat tried to squirm out of his grasp. “Whiskers, be good.” 

The cat meowed in displeasure. 

“You need to listen. I'm having a friend over tonight and you need to be nice to him.” 

Whiskers squirmed more, letting out a long whine. 

“Whiskers,” Jimmy said firmly and he laid down. He was placating the man, and Jimmy knew it. The second he released his grip the cat would be gone. “Are you gonna be nice?” 

Another meow that Jimmy took to mean ‘fine’. 

“Good boy.” He scratched between the cat’s ears before releasing him. 

As expected he was gone immediately. Jimmy took a deep breath and got up. Might as well get started. 

 

Jimmy was just pulling the lasagna out of the oven when he heard the knock on the door. "Just a moment!" He called, setting the pan down and pulling off his oven mitts. He straightened out his shirt. He'd gone more casual tonight: nice jeans and a soft blue tee. Taking a deep breath he headed for the door. He shot Whiskers a look (the cat was too busy cleaning himself to care) and opened the door.

Crowley, standing there at the threshold, froze. His mouth half opened as if he wanted to say something, then shut again, like the lead in some dumb romantic comedy who's literally rendered speechless by the beauty before him. Certainly though, that wasn't what was happening here. 

Jimmy tipped his head to the side curiously, trying to decide what to make of the way Crowley was acting. "Come on in. Dinner's just out of the oven," he said, taking Crowley's hand and giving a gentle tug; but Crowley didn't budge. Even the hand Jimmy tugged on wouldn't pass the threshold.

“Ah,” Crowley managed. 

Jimmy turned to him, brow furrowing in confusion, worry seeping its way in. "What's wrong?”

Licking his lips, Crowley pulled an apologetic face. His hands around the bottle of wine he was carrying showed too tight a grip. He cleared his throat. "Well, this is awkward." His gaze, looking genuinely unsettled, flickered past Jimmy and into the apartment. "You have no idea how much I regret having to say this. And I really am sorry. But I can't come in."

Jimmy's eyes widened slightly. Had he done something? What could have possibly happened in the past 30 seconds that could make Crowley change his mind about tonight? "Why not?"

"Ah. Bit embarrassing, really." Crowley raised his eyebrows appealingly. "We'll laugh about this, one day. It's, ah - Jimmy, are you superstitious?"

Jimmy's eyes searched Crowley's face tentatively. "I suppose a bit...why?"

"So am I. Sort of. A lot. I mean, I don't want to alarm you, your place looks perfectly lovely, but..." Crowley's face wore the look of a man desperately trying to talk his way out of a corner and failing. "It's... haunted. I can't come in. I'll make it up to you? Promise?" He widened his eyes, long lashes fluttering.

Jimmy frowned, looking around his apartment. His eyes caught on Whiskers trying to leave and he snatched him up, against his protests. His eyes finally went back to Crowley. "I just finished dinner though..."

"And it smells divine." Was that the slightest pout? "And your pussy is just darling and I feel like the most terrible man on the face of the earth." He reached out to rub behind Whiskers' ears.

Whiskers eyed Crowley suspiciously, growling low in his throat. "Knock that off," Jimmy said firmly, giving his ear a light flick that had the cat ducking his head. "Well, what are we supposed to do?"

Crowley caught his bottom lip between his teeth just briefly. "You're fine with this..?"

Jimmy let out a huge sigh, petting Whiskers distractedly though he was still making unhappy noises. "I just don't want all my lasagna to go to waste," he said, "But if I...I don't know...cleanse my apartment or something and you still won't come in, I'm going to be upset."

"Bring the food?" Crowley looked contrite again. "It really does smell good. Hell, bring him," he nodded at Whiskers, "if he'll travel. I'll fetch something to cleanse the place myself if you'll invite me back. And cross my heart and hope to die," his voice lowered a little in pitch, "I will absolutely make this debacle up to you."

Jimmy looked down at Whiskers, and the cat whined. Was he sensing what Crowley was talking about, or did he not like the man? He sighed again. "Where are we going?"

"My place?" He sounded hopeful. "Ten minutes cab ride, max. Your lasagna won't even need reheating." He shuffled his feet, inching back from the door and glancing again at the cat. "I'll let you pick the movie?"

Jimmy sighed, but nodded. "I'll be right back. Don't let Whiskers leave." He set his cat down who instantly ran to the couch before turning to stare at Crowley while his human went to put the lasagna in something portable.

"Cab's on the way," Crowley called into the apartment. When Jimmy arrived back at the door, Crowley was leaning casually against the jamb, hands in pockets and feet crossed at the ankle. His smile was a little more familiarly confident, like he knew he was forgiven. "Would you look at that exemplary service," he said, as the car rolled to a halt in the street below.

Jimmy felt much less confident. He glanced back at Whiskers, feeling nervous. “He seems unhappy. Do you think he'll be okay by himself? Or do you think he's upset by what's here?” 

"I'm hardly an expert on cats, I'm afraid. Does he normally behave like this?"

Jimmy frowned and shook his head. "No," he said with a sigh. "I just don't want him to be hurt."

"Well," Crowley peered around the door. From beneath the couch, Whiskers regarded him with baleful eyes. "If he's not acted like this before, it's surely not the... presence, affecting him. Maybe he's jealous."

Jimmy frowned. He supposed that was possible. It wasn't as if he frequently (or ever) had people over. "Let me talk to him," he said and held out the lasagna, waiting for Crowley to take it before he went to kneel down in front of the couch. After some gentle coaxing and petting he had the cat purring and smiled over his shoulder triumphantly. "You be good," he told his cat before getting to his feet. "We can go now."

Crowley nodded. Signaled to the cab driver, then gave a little wave of his fingers in the direction of the couch as the door closed. "Sorry for the delay," he told the driver, smoothly, as they settled in the backseat. "Baby trouble. He's our first, he just hates it when we go out and leave him with the sitter. Grizzles for hours."

Jimmy flushed, eyes widening at Crowley as he slipped into the cab next to him. The cabbie gave a small grunt. "Where to?"

"The Metropolitan on fifty-sixth" Crowley hid a smirk. "We upgraded from sleazy motels in our thirties."

Jimmy ignored the comment, brow furrowing as he grew more confused. He thought they were going to Crowley's apartment. His eyes searched the man's face as he spoke with the driver, who seemed rather disinterested.

"Here we are. I meant it that you could've brought Whiskers," Crowley paid the cabbie, opened the door. "I'd have smuggled him in."

"It's fine. I didn't want to upset him," Jimmy said as he climbed out, "Though, I have to say, I'm confused. Is this where you're staying?"

"I - yeah." It was another nice place, another doorman (who Jimmy nodded his thanks to), more old fashioned than the restaurant with chandeliers in the lobby. Crowley led the way to the elevator. "My place is quite a bit further out of town. Would you be mad if I told you I took this room to be closer to you?"

Jimmy eyed him curiously. “Mad? No. Surprised...yes.”

The lock clicked, door swinging open onto what looked like an actual suite of rooms. Immaculate, luxurious - totally impersonal. "I can't believe you still don't think I'm some kind of ax murderer." Crowley stood back to let Jimmy enter, the weight of his gaze anything but threatening. "You're very trusting, you know that, angel?"

Jimmy looked around the room curiously, wanting to find something that told him about who Crowley was. He frowned when he didn't happen upon anything. "I trust my instincts," he said with a shrug. "Is there anything to eat this with?"

"Wait a tic. Make yourself comfortable." Crowley rounded a corner of the huge room and then a moment later reappeared with, improbably, a room service trolley complete with clean plates and cutlery. "Since you were chef, shall I be mother?"

 

Jimmy, who had sat down at the table, looked up in surprise at Crowley's quick reappearance. “That seems fair.”

"So," Crowley dished out from the Tupperware with aplomb, Jimmy's eyes on him. "You don't think I'm cuckoo, then?" He uncorked the wine with a pop.

“No, I don't think so.” 

Crowley peered up at him from beneath his lashes as he poured the wine. It made Jimmy’s heart rate kick up a bit. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but you say that with the certainty of someone who has... seen something."

Jimmy's eyes moved over Crowley, over the figure he saw beneath the man, as he weighed the decision of admission. "I...see strange things sometimes," he admitted, "Things that are probably more crazy than sensing a presence."

"Auras?" Crowley's voice was almost dreamy, which seemed a bit odd. He traced the tip of one finger around the rim of his wine glass. "Lights?" He lifted the glass, taking a sip. He met Jimmy's eye as he said, "darkness?"

Jimmy cut his food slowly, trying to decide the best way to explain. "Um...It's usually something behind the eyes. Often a light, sometimes black. With you...red."

"Me?" Crowley's eyebrows rose just a little. "You see this... whatever it is, in everyone?"

"Just the light," Jimmy said, shifting uncomfortably. Crowley was going to think he was insane if he said too much. "There have been a couple that have been very different."

"Different how?" His voice was casual, seemed natural, unconcerned, as he ate. He looked interested. Curious. Not freaked out. It was comforting. 

Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair. "Um... It's as if I see the human, but another figure entirely."

"What, at the same time? Like a double exposure?" Crowley was looking at him very hard.

"I assume I'm crazy," Jimmy replied casually with a shrug as he took a bite of his food.

Crowley gave a quiet chuckle. "Crazy, and a fantastic cook. You're quite the catch."

Jimmy huffed a small laugh. "At least I can go into possessed houses," he teased, "Thank you."

Crowley’s pleased smile spread slowly. "So, red eyes, you say? Are they red right now?"

"There's always red behind the brown," Jimmy replied. "It’s lovely."

Crowley coughed softly, almost as if he'd choked a little on his food. Jimmy reached out, lightly patting his back. "Is that so? Albino rat red, or stoner red?"

Jimmy huffed a laugh. "Albino, I suppose," he said, "There's...what looks like a red smoke as well."

"Smoke? Around me?" Crowley turned his head a little as if he'd just been told his shirt label was out. "...and you're fine with all of this?"

Jimmy nodded in confirmation. "It was a bit disconcerting when I saw something similar on someone else; it's different with you. It's nice."

"Nice," Crowley repeated softly, an edge of disbelief to his voice. He laid his cutlery parallel on his cleared plate. Took a too-long swig of his wine, almost like he was steeling himself for something. "Do tell, Jimmy - do these... characteristics.... show up on photographs too?" He slid his mobile phone across the white tablecloth, lock-screen displaying a smiling image of him and…

“Dean.” 

Jimmy's eyes widened as he took in the image, and his own cutlery clattered onto his plate. His brother and the man he was seeing; and the picture was his lock screen. In everything he'd seen, that was a sign that someone was very special. Often romantically. He frowned deeply, squirming in his seat as he looked up. "Why do you have a picture with my brother?"

"Your brother Dean? This Dean?" Crowley narrowed his eyes questioningly, spinning the phone around to face himself again. The words hung unspoken between them: my Dean?

Jimmy pushed his seat back and got to his feet. He couldn't bare just sitting there. He was shaking a little, heart thumping hard at the implications. "Who is he to you?" He demanded, brows furrowed.

Crowley's eyes widened. "He's - he was - a friend... Wait, this is your brother Dean?" He repeated, stupidly. "His surname isn't Novak."

Jimmy huffed in frustration. "No, it's Winchester. That's not relevant." But why did they have different names...? His mom's name was Campbell... Not the point right now. "He was a friend? That's why you have that picture as your lock screen? It sounds more important than that, Crowley."

"We just hung out for a time. Got along. He's a good guy." He wet his lips. "Then, we, ah. Parted ways. Jimmy, look at me. How could I have known you know him?"

Jimmy tried to look at Crowley, there was no reason to be mad. What he’d said was true. How could he have known; but he couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. There were too many things going on, too many ideas bouncing around in his head. He sat on his edge of the bed and rested his forehead against his hands. The light beside the bed flickered, but he ignored that. "Please tell me you didn't sleep with him."

Crowley had stood, walked a few paces toward the bed. Now he stopped, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, absolutely spoiling the line. "I - no! We were just... Not like that. Pals. Bros. He sure can drink a lot, that boy. And karaoke - the humanity." He was babbling, quite unlike his usual comfortable self. "We didn't... Have sex. With each other."

A palpable air of discomfort hung around him, buzzing almost like static. The light flickered again.

Jimmy looked up, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he searched Crowley's face. There was a loophole somewhere in there. He knew it, and he needed to find it "What does that mean? Did you want to? Did you do something weird?"

"Define 'weird'. We did a shed-load of weird - he really has a thing for 90s one-hit wonders y'know." It sounded like joking, but Crowley wasn't smiling, not at all. His expression was one Jimmy hadn't yet seen on him.

Jimmy frowned deeply. "This isn't funny, and stop telling me things about my brother I already know. It's awkward." He swallowed hard. "Sexually. Did you do anything sexually together? You also, I noted, glazed over whether or not you wanted to sleep with him." He wasn't sure why he was pushing that. He didn't want to know. 

"Jimmy..." He took his hands out of his pockets. Folded his arms. Frowned and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "I have a lot of respect for your... for Dean. In as much as - okay, I'm digressing again. Believe me, I do not want to have Biblical relations with the bloke. I didn't bang him. He didn't bang me. There was no kissing each other goodnight." He passed a hand over his forehead. The tension slowly began to ease from Jimmy’s shoulders. “There may have been... a girl.” Crowley pulled an awkward face. “But I assure you, it was a one-time, consenting-adults, meaningless, fun-only thing." Just like that the tension was back. 

“You… you had a threesome with my brother." He tipped his head back, raising his eyes to the ceiling in despair. "The man I am seeing had a threesome with my brother. Wonderful." He let out a dramatic sigh, hands slapping on the sides of the bed. "My older brother saw you naked before me. That is just perfect."

"Believe me, if I'd known about you at the time, I wouldn't have had those last six Dirty Martinis." Crowley's voice came out a little harder that time. “If it's any consolation at all he probably doesn't remember.”

Jimmy made a soft noise, staring up at Crowley with a pained expression. "I don't know what to do with this," he said, voice hinting at a whine.

Crowley raised his eyebrows appealingly. He was doing that a lot tonight. "Forget it ever happened? I know I have. Would you rather I'd lied..?"

"No," Jimmy said quickly, "But I don't know how to forget. Why is that even your lock screen?"

"We were... good mates. Without wanting to come over all melodramatic, it was the last time I really... had fun." Crowley's voice softened. "Until I met you. I've ballsed that up though, haven't I?"

Jimmy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes he reached out for Crowley's hand. "No," he said quietly, "No, you haven't.'

Crowley swallowed, an audible click. His hand wrapped around Jimmy's, squeezing softly. Quietly and seriously he said, "If you want, I can get naked right now? We don't have to do anything, you can just stare at me, all creepy-like. If that'll make you feel better."

Jimmy bit his lip, fighting the urge to laugh. "Shut up," he said, a little chuckle coming out. The tension eased out of his shoulders again.

A smile broke across Crowley's face, all perfect teeth and glittering eyes. It looked suspiciously like relief. He sat carefully next to Jimmy on the bed, hands clasped on his knees. 

"Are you sure? It's a perfectly serious, never-to-be-repeated offer."

Jimmy swatted Crowley's arm, finding himself laughing as well. "Yes, I'm sure. But we are going to watch Moulin Rouge. And you're going to hold me when I cry." He paused. "And get me something with honey."

"Okay, then." A cautious arm settled around Jimmy's shoulders. After a moment, pulled him in close. "You're going to have to shuffle this way so I can reach the phone to call for room service, though. Because no way am I letting you go this evening."

Jimmy smiled a little, pressing his face into Crowley's shoulder. “You'd better not.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's flat gets cleansed, then Jimmy and Crowley get down and dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where this thing earns its rating...

" _Whiskers_." Crowley muttered under his breath.  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
"Hmmm? What?" Crowley flinched a little, focusing his attention back to the room. He sat up straighter on his throne, hand gripping the arm-rest instead of supporting his slumped head.  
"I... thought you said something, your majesty."  
Crowley waved a hand. "Blah, blah. New scenario. Stuck in a lift. Alone. Minimum forty years. Add in... the barely perceptible odour of vegan flatulence, and Crazy Frog on an infinite loop."  
"That's..." The demon’s eyebrows drew together in what looked like concern. His hands, holding clipboard and pen, twitched like they'd much rather be holding a scalpel and bone cutters.  
"Fiendish. I know." Crowley sounded bored. The demon frowned harder, drawing in a deep breath as if bracing to say something difficult.  
"Sire... Your Excellency... Are you... Are you _alright_?"  
Crowley's arched a brow, questioningly. "Am I..?"  
" _Alright_ , Sire? It's just that, lately, you've seemed, you know, a little... distracted?" The demon looked at him, with an expression dangerously bordering on sympathetic. "Is there anything I can do to hel-"  
His offer was cut off abruptly as, at the click of Crowley's fingers, he atomised into a fine red mist. Crowley settled back on his throne. "You know, you're quite right, whatever-your-name-was. I _have_ been a little _off_ lately. Thank you. I feel ever so much better now." He sighed, to the now-empty room. _Better_? Not in the slightest. The same carousel of thoughts waltzed round and round in his head on an infinite, sickening loop: _Jimmy Novak_.

Even the guy’s bloody _cat_ knew the score more than he did, Crowley there; stranded at the front door like a frigging lemon. _Demon warding_! Crowley’s teeth clenched, his fingers digging into the armrests of his throne. The whole flat had been plastered with it: _how_ had the whole sodding flat been plastered with wards? Unless Castiel _knew_.

Crowley sank back into his seat again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Replayed the evidence he’d so successfully and cunningly gathered despite the inconvenient little magical speedbump in his carefully-plotted route that had kept him from the search of the flat that he so very much wanted.

 _Item_ : Castiel, so trusting, entering a room with Crowley, alone and with no perceivable weaponry available… Crowley fidgeted where he sat. That train of thought was headed nowhere but Smutsville: filing it away for later, he tried again. _Item_ : The angel that admits to a demon that he can see his true form. And finds it… _‘nice’_ his brain reminds him, _he said, and I believe this is verbatim,_ _‘it’s lovely.’_ Frowning thunder at the closed doors ahead of him, Crowley tried to think, his concentration ruined by unhelpful soppy ruminations on a theme of _he thinks I’m lovely. Me. Not the vessel. Me._ “I suppose he might be good for a tumble,” he muttered, out loud. The thought seemed… _no_. Crowley remembered another time. Darla, was it? Darlene? With the big bouncing curls and the bigger bouncing assets, utterly un-virginal in white. How his hands had circled her waist, closing over another pair of hands. How he’d looked at Dean, not her, as he came… _There may have been a girl. Or five. And some guys too, for good measure. There’d even been triplets, but no sir, he’d never kissed Dean Winchester, not even for a deal. He’d never put tab A into slot B with Dean Winchester…_ Crowley cleared his throat, shook his head, blowing out a long, slow breath: he had it on the brain even more than usual these days. _Concentrate, Crowley_. _Item_ : Castiel’s reaction to the photograph of good ol’ black-eyed boy Squirrel that Crowley had set as his lock-screen to test him had been indisputably not acting and absolutely unexpected. Not quite as unexpected as how Crowley had felt in turn, though: the memory still stirred a strange, queasy feeling in him that he didn’t want to prod too much at. It was as if the angel genuinely did believe that Starsky there was his brother, despite apparently not knowing why they had different surnames… Crowley frowned. A hole in the plot? But who was writing it? Something about Castiel complimenting him had made Crowley want to shut him up, to make him hate him again, but then the moment Cas saw that photograph, he’d wanted to just claw it all back. The hurt in those trusting blue eyes had been… He could have lied, swore nothing at all had happened between him and Squirrel; certainly not told the truth – however sparing that truth had been. Why couldn’t he lie to Jimmy? Ah, to _Castiel_? Crowley tapped fingertips against the armrests of his throne in a frustrated little drumroll. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the angel – still an angel, still as far as Crowley could tell brimming full of Heaven’s power – was completely oblivious to the fact he was anything but a painfully average - if ludicrously attractive - card-punching, every-day, all-American citizen. Which meant that someone had done something to him to create that false belief. Someone with a twisted enough sense of humour to give him the Winchesters as his happy little family. Someone who would purposefully fail to cast Crowley as someone who meant anything to him at all. Crowley gnawed at his bottom lip. Someone who would set him up in a flat warded up to the nines to keep demons – _Crowley_ – out. Someone very powerful. Powerful enough to mind-fuck a half-fallen seraph. How many creatures were there with power like that, outside of the angels themselves? Crowley sat up straighter in his seat. His knuckles bleached white as his fists clenched. “Mother..?” he whispered.

 

The wards still prickled at Crowley's subconscious as he knocked once more on the apartment door that was fast becoming familiar to him. He hefted the big leather satchel slung across one shoulder, the excitement he felt surely stemming from the certainty of outwitting an opponent. ‘Jimmy’ opened the door with a little smile. "Hello," he said, leaning forward to press a light kiss to Crowley's cheek. "Will you come in this time?"

Tucked in his inside pocket, the spell Crowley had carefully prepared to counteract the building’s demon-proofing was doing its business: he could feel the power emanating, a buzz through to the soles of his feet. "Not even the hounds of Hell could stop me," he said, stepping through the door and looking around with undisguised curiosity. "I brought you something. For the, you know-" he wriggled his fingers in an approximation of 'spooky'.

‘Jimmy’ let out something that sounded like a sigh of relief when Crowley entered the apartment. He closed the door behind them and nodded. From the couch Whiskers growled low. "Knock that off," ‘Jimmy’ said firmly.

"I think he likes me." Crowley gave a lopsided smile. Wondered why he felt almost regretful that some dumb moggy failed to appreciate his more sulphurous attributes.

‘Jimmy’ huffed a laugh. "He will," he assured, stroking Crowley's arm gently. "He's not used to new people. Give him time."

"Not many wild parties at your place, then?"

Crowley took a seat in a chair furthest away from the cat, started to unpack his bag, as ‘Jimmy’ raised a brow. "Do I seem the wild party type?" he asked, sitting down next to Whiskers and stroking gently from his head down his back.

The smile on Crowley's face appeared quite accidentally at that. _No. You seem like the ‘curl up with a Scotch and a good book’ type._ "Here. Thought I might be able to help you out, maybe." He laid the items he’d brought out on the coffee table. Bundle of sage. Incense sticks. Two little glass bottles marked with engraved crosses - one containing salt, one water. "Are you familiar?"

‘Jimmy’ looked the items over. "Sage and incense, yes. I'm not certain about the others," he said, rubbing Whiskers' neck absently.

"Cleansing ritual. It might help, if you'll permit me?"

"Of course.” Whiskers crawled across ‘Jimmy’s’ lap to inspect the new items, stretching so that he could smell them.

Placing a brass petrol lighter and a little silver bell next to the incense sticks, Crowley fished again into his satchel. "And these. For you." he said, producing a large paper bag. "Baked this morning."

‘Jimmy's’ lips twitched up at the sight of the Snickerdoodles. "That was very nice of you."

"Least I could do," Crowley said, the gruffness of emotion in his voice surprising him. He picked up the bottle of salt mix. "You may need to Hoover a bit after this. But I guess it'll save you giving me the tour of the place. Shall I just-" he indicated towards the room at large.

‘Jimmy’ smiled and leaned forward to kiss Crowley's cheek again. "You're very sweet," he whispered, then, "Whiskers! Off the table!" The cat jumped down, running away and ‘Jimmy’ sat back. "You may. Is there anything I should do, or would you like me to make lunch?"

"Lunch would be marvellous. This might take a while, though." Crowley was having trouble keeping his grin in check, realising to his horror that it was less to do with his genius and attendant good fortune at getting an un-suspicious, unsupervised poke around the flat, and more to do with how affectionate the angel appeared to be this afternoon. "I'll start in here - work round clockwise back to the front door."

‘Jimmy’ nodded as he got to his feet. "Hmm... Perhaps some Fettuccini Alfredo. It's easy to keep warm if I finish before you do," he said, scooping up the cookies. "Does that sound alright?" He rested a hand lightly on Crowley's shoulder as he stopped, waiting for an answer.

"Sounds perfect." Crowley leaned his head down to brush a kiss against the knuckles of that hand - _nothing wrong with enjoying the job_. ‘Jimmy’ made a pleased noise at that, smiling. He squeezed Crowley's shoulder gently before letting go, heading into the kitchen.

 

He supposed he should be sweeping the bad vibes out first with a broom, but it didn’t look as though ‘Jimmy’, in his new-found blissful ignorance, had the slightest clue what even a standard ritual entailed and Crowley, to be frank, could not be arsed with the full whack. He did a quick circuit, ringing the bell and scoping out the reach of the place: somewhat pokey by his standards, but what could be expected in the city on a bartender’s wage? Even one who got far more than the standard amount of tips – Crowley allowed himself a wry, not-at-all-bitter smile. By the time he was on his second circuit, wafting round a smouldering bundle of dried sage and mumbling his Sotheby’s wish-list in Ancient Aramaic, Crowley took the time to really study the environment.

There were books. There were a _lot_ of books. Stacked neatly along fitted shelves, stacked haphazardly on the floor. Crowley peered at the array of spines: Dee and Frazer, Spare and Howard. And Crowley’s namesake. Crowley smirked. The Petit Albert, the Book of Abramelin, The Malleus Maleficarum and the Key of Solomon.  Every Harry Potter book, well-read. A box set of Winnie the Pooh. Crowley’s smirk softened into something else. He brushed some dropped ash off the top of a stack of National Geographic magazines. Bent to retrieve, tucked under one corner of the sofa, a little leather bag. Crowley’s lips pressed together. But when he opened it, tipping half of the contents into one palm, he found only a protection spell.

It wasn’t the only magical residue in the place.

Salt lined the window sills. An iron fire poker rested against the TV cabinet, no fireplace to be seen. It was as if the bloody Winchesters had decorated for him, and that was even without the photographs. _The photographs_. Crowley paused in front of a shelf, lined with picture frames. Sam. Dean. Dean asleep with his head lolling dumbly on Sam’s shoulder; Sam aiming an expression of barely restrained laughter at the person taking the photograph – was that Castiel? Crowley’s gaze moved, strangely numb, from image to image. A shrewd-looking tween-ager in a Zeppelin shirt that had to be Plaid Peril Number One. A shyly grinning mini-Moose. Reaching out, Crowley picked up a silvered metal frame, emblazoned with a cartoon cat holding up a sign that said ‘Hi there!’ The photograph showed them all: the Three Loseketeers. The brothers with popped collars and daft grins, Sam gangly in the centre. Cas to the right, in suit and tie and trench, smiling. _Smiling_. _Castiel._ Crowley stared for probably too long. Resisted the urge to snap a photo of the photo with his phone. It looked too much like the man he could hear cheerfully clattering pans in the little kitchen next door. _Because it_ is _that man, you dolt_. Crowley placed the frame carefully back on the shelf and laid the smouldering sage on a plate on the coffee table.

He sprinkled the salt next, not caring too much about the mess now that his accustomed eyes spotted salt lines throughout the flat. Threw a pinch in one of the pans with a wink that earned him a light punch on the arm when he did the kitchen for effect. A lit candle. Repeat. Incense. Make sure you waft it into every nook and cranny when you’re searching for evidence of your infernal mother’s mysteriously-motivated interference. He found a whole pile of diddly squat. More harmless hex bags stuffed at the back of drawers. A flask of holy water perched, of all places, next to a bottle of bubble bath in the little bathroom – _bubble bath_ \- _that_ conjured some mental images he tucked away for later consideration. When he came to his final pass with his own ‘holy’ water (there may have been a cross on the bottle, but the contents were pure Evian, thank you very much) Crowley was despairing of finding anything useful at all. One room left to check. He cast a glance at Whiskers, who had been stalking him the entire time with the air of deep mistrust that only a cat can muster. “I don’t think so, mate,” he muttered, shutting the bedroom door behind him just a fraction of a second too late; the cat slipped in despite his efforts, to sit glowering at him from the bed. Crowley set the water bottle down and looked around.

It was a perfectly average room. Blue striped duvet on the double bed, neatly made. Clean. Tidy. Digital alarm clock on the nightstand. A reading lamp. A half full glass of water. A Bible. “But the burning question is…” _Where’s his underwear drawer?_ The first drawer Crowley tried was full of neatly folded t-shirts. The second, balled socks – white, for pity’s sake – and a stack of laundered underwear. _Briefs. Nice and sensible and chaste like a good little choirboy, good lord._ Crowley ran a hand over the pile and wondered why he didn’t feel like smirking – this sort of thing would usually perk him right up, but today it was just giving him a really weird lump in his throat that felt a bit like _guilt_. He shut the drawer quietly, pulled a face at Whiskers, staring him judgmentally down from his perch, and crossed to the nightstand. The first thing he pulled out made his pulse quicken, but his stomach drop. “Bloody Hell.” He turned them over in his hands; a pair of white panties, flimsy and sheer but sensibly cut and frilly enough to be worn by a _nice_ girl. Little blue satin bows to either side of the crotch. Crowley swallowed a tightness in his throat. _A conquest trophy?_ “Good on you, Rain Man. Didn’t think you had it in you.” The knowledge of discovery seethed inside him like disease. Sex: meaningless. He didn’t get jealous. But god damn it, he was fucking burning. Balling them up into a frilly little bullet, he pushed them back into the drawer, fighting the mental images of ‘Jimmy’ rutting some tipsy slut from that bar of his in his nice, neat bed. What else? Whiskers growled, a warning rumble, and Crowley hissed back at him, _shush_. He knew what his hands had closed around before he pulled the little bottle out. Lube. Crowley looked at it silently, attempting to process, that same confusing war of arousal and jealousy waging in his guts – _he’s getting some, then. But who with?_ \- before he slid it back into the drawer.

The only place left was the wardrobe, hung half full of a modest selection of sweatshirts, shirts, a couple of pairs of jeans folded on hangars, a black suit that on further inspection proved dark grey. He checked the pockets. Nothing but a couple of drugstore receipts, some loose change. Hanging at the furthest end, like sartorial ghosts, two plaid shirts, one bigger than the other. Crowley ran a hand over his face, across the back of his neck. A glimpse of heavy tan cotton. He reached to the back of the wardrobe, pulling out the coat, askew on its hanger. Slipping a hand into the inside pocket, Crowley felt the smooth chill of metal, sending his scalp crawling. He pulled it out. The blade glinted in the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the window. This – _this_ was a turn-up. Something useful. Something he absolutely should nick.

Carefully, Crowley placed it back into the pocket of the trench-coat, and closed the wardrobe door.

 

When he ‘blessed’ the front door, it was less to keep out whatever amorphous idea of ‘evil’ that the Wiccans held up placards against and more a two fingered salute to Rowena, for whenever she came sniffing back around the place. "Think we're about done. Feel anything different?" Crowley slipped into the kitchen behind 'Jimmy' who turned to look at Crowley, tipping his head to the side thoughtfully. "Yes," he decided.

Crowley held up the still-smouldering smudging stick and fluttered his lashes. "Can I dunk my bundle in your sink?"

‘Jimmy’ rolled his eyes, smiling a little. "If you rinse my sink, yes. Lunch is ready."

"Smells wonderful," Crowley paced around him, purposefully getting in the way, to provoke that smile. "Lunch does too." ‘Jimmy’ huffed softly at that, nudging Crowley playfully, before going to set the table. Crowley followed him, _entirely unlike a puppy, his brain insisted_. "May I ask you something?"  
  
Turning, ‘Jimmy’ made an inquisitive noise. "I think you just did," he stated.

Crowley's smile widened. "May I bombard you with an unlimited number of questions?"

‘Jimmy’ pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I suppose, but if there's going to be a lot, I'm going to continue setting the table."

"What's the salt for? I noticed - along the windowsills?" Crowley fell into step beside him, laying out the cutlery 'Jimmy' passed him - _solid silver_ , he noted, _another curiosity_.

"It was something our Father used to do," Jimmy said with a shrug as he placed the pan of pasta on a place mat, "I suppose it stuck."

"Unusual family custom. For - luck? To keep slugs out?" Crowley took a seat, resting his chin on his cupped hands while he watched 'Jimmy' dish the food.

"He was superstitious," ‘Jimmy’ said, pouring two glasses of tea. "A bit paranoid, in reality."

"Better safe than sorry?"

"I suppose," he settled into his seat, opposite Crowley.

"Protecting his family." Crowley said, more to himself than his companion.

‘Jimmy’ nodded in agreement. "I can't deny that," he agreed as he began eating.

Crowley picked up his fork. He should eat, make his excuses, and leave. But thought of all those delicious little evidences of humanity he'd uncovered buzzed at the fore of his mind. _Celibates don't have lube in their nightstand drawer. What's the benefit in denying yourself a little consenting fun?_

They ate a while in a silence that Crowley would resent calling ‘companionable’. "So." Spinning the remainder of his fettucine onto his fork, Crowley kept his eyes studiously on his plate. "What are your plans for this evening? I mean - we've eaten. We've cleansed your lovely home of potential malevolence..."

"Well, those are things that I don't normally have done until the evening," Jimmy said seriously, "So it looks like I've freed up a bit of time. Perhaps I might spend that time with a certain man."

"Nice, is he? Charming?" Crowley knows exactly _why_ he's smiling like an idiot, but usually when he switches this on, he doesn't suffer the accompanying bubble of contentment inside. "Terribly dashing? Massive-"

"Ego?" ‘Jimmy’ piped in with an amused expression, "Yes. He certainly has that. Though he may well be the other things. Add exceedingly handsome to the list."

"He sounds dreamy," Crowley purred, reaching one hand across the table to run a single finger across the back of 'Jimmy's' knuckles, "any chance of his number?"

‘Jimmy’ smiled a little at the touch, but the shook his head. "Absolutely not. I'm sorry, but I can't risk you two running off together."

Crowley bit his lip, still smiling. Looking at their joined hands. Curious. "I'm afraid I have a confession to make, darling. I'm already a little in love with myself. But someone else seems to be overtaking me in my affections lately..."

Ducking his head, ‘Jimmy’ smiled shyly. He looked back up through his lashes, blue eyes impossibly bright. "Oh? Tell me about this someone else?"

"Well. He's very adept at fishing for compliments... He has this fetching little squint he gets when I tease him..." Crowley's voice softened, completely in spite of himself. "He has no idea what he is. How special he is. He makes me feel...” _He makes me_ feel. “He makes me want to protect him. I've never felt that way for anyone before." Crowley's eyes flicked up to meet 'Jimmy's'. _Hell help him: he means it._ Clearing his throat, Crowley withdrew his hand. "You cooked. I'll wash?"  
Jimmy made a soft noise, expression turning soft, lips parting slightly. When Crowley pulled his hand away the other man let out a noise akin to a whine. "You don't have to," he said quietly, eyes glued to Crowley's face.  
"I insist. Fair payment for an excellent feed." His eyes darted, avoiding 'Jimmy's'. He lowered his voice a little. This honesty felt like it was somehow costing too much, but... "You'll have to forgive me, pet. I don't generally do... Feelings. It's all a bit new to me."  
Jimmy reached out, thumb stroking lightly over Crowley's jaw. "Fair payment," he murmured, "I've never felt this way before either. I've had one very short relationship. It was entirely different." He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to Crowley's.  
He'd felt full of smouldering coals for weeks, fanned every time the damned angel touched him. Every kiss. Crowley leaned in. Let himself. So used to smart-mouthing his way to whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted... and he didn't want this to be any different, but oh, it was. ‘Jimmy’ cupped his cheek, free hand resting lightly on his arm. Kissed him soft and slow, but pressed in closer, deepening it a little bit. Crowley was more than happy to let him lead. Happy, thrilled - he swallowed a moan - to let the angel - _the angel!_ \- have his way. If he still dreamed, he wouldn't have believed this in his wildest. ‘Jimmy’ slid his hand up Crowley's arm and shoulder to rest against the side of his neck. "I think the dishes can wait," he whispered, "I think we need to move to the couch so I can make out with you without sitting on the edge of my chair."  
"Your logic is flawless." Crowley's voice sounded rough to his own ears. Ruffled. He would've liked to make a grand gesture, claw back the upper hand and sweep 'Jimmy' up into his arms, but his knees felt oddly weak, as he stumbled after him to the couch.  
‘Jimmy’ held tight to Crowley's hand as he led him, pulled him down to sit next to him and leaned over, kissing him again as his fingers pushed into Crowley’s hair. Crowley arched into the touch. All his many conquests, a blur of teeth and skin and meaninglessly satiated arousal: never this; gentle, affectionate. Better than the best sex. His breath was coming fast and shallow against 'Jimmy's' lips and he couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed. Pressing in closer, other arm winding around his neck ‘Jimmy’ nipped lightly at Crowley’s lower lip, ran his tongue over it gently. His breath shook, fingers tugging gently at Crowley’s hair. Sliding one arm beneath 'Jimmy's' knees, Crowley dragged him onto his lap, not breaking their kiss. He tilted his head back, eyes half lidded, mouth moving to 'Jimmy's' throat, the scrape of stubble rough under his tongue. Tightened his arm around that narrow waist, the other hand on 'Jimmy's' knee, climbing to skim the inside of one denim-clad thigh: ‘Jimmy’ gasped in surprise, head tipping back to bare his throat. He moaned softly, hands trembling slightly as they roamed over Crowley's chest, fingers fumbling. He tugged at his tie, trying to loosen it. Those eyes, dark with want. Pink flush across his cheekbones. Crowley had never seen anything so beautiful, not since this very angel had him pinned up against a wall in his lab, fearing for his infernal hide even as he was desperate to kiss him: now here the creature was. Falling for him. _Falling_... Crowley rolled his hips up, friction tugging a groan from his throat, muted against 'Jimmy's' smooth skin. ‘Jimmy’ whimpered softly, just gripping Crowley's tie for a moment. His eyes closed and he took a deep, shaky breath before he began to fumble with the buttons on Crowley's shirt. He looked stunned. A little rabbit in an eighteen-wheeler's headlights, so far from the warrior Crowley had known; his chest cramped with some unfamiliar swelling affection. How many people had seen 'Jimmy' this way? Anyone..? ‘Jimmy's’ hands tightened in Crowley's shirt front as Crowley gathered him in his arms and tipped them both back, only a little awkwardly, so that 'Jimmy' was lying supine on the sofa, Crowley straddling his thighs. ‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise, looking up with huge eyes. He was panting, fingers curled in Crowley's shirt. Wide eyes searched the man's face, the shakes moving to his arms. _Trembling_. Crowley dropped his head to nose at 'Jimmy's' neck, breathing in that delicious nothing-scent of sky and rain and whatever overbearing washing-products gave him that touchingly human edge. He was practically shaking beneath him. Bracing with his arms, Crowley aligned their hips, pressing down gently against answering hardness. ‘Jimmy’ gave up on Crowley's buttons. He was getting nowhere with his shaking hands. Instead he wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him to his chest. One hand fisted in his jacket between his shoulder blades, the other in his hair. ‘Jimmy’ gasped softly, arching up and rubbing against Crowley in return. The roll of his hips was enough to make Crowley growl, curse under his breath. They'd not even shed any clothes, for pity's sake, making out on the couch like bloody teenagers - for some reason the thought of that was getting him hotter, hips pressing and mouth more insistent, wetter, biting gently at those full lips.  
‘Jimmy’ moaned into the kiss, parting his lips and flicking his tongue over Crowley's. He clung to him, hips rocking up. "Please," he breathed quietly.

Loath as Crowley was to admit it, getting carried away was actually rather delicious. He drew back, panting. Pressed kisses to 'Jimmy's' forehead, his cheekbones, his screwed-shut eyelids. Long sooty lashes quivered. Fretful little crease between his brows. "What is it, angel?" Crowley whispered. He was ridiculously close, close enough to dare himself with another roll of his hips. "What do you want?"

Jimmy drew his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers curling a little more in Crowley's jacket. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up, breathless. "I..." He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, "I want you."

Crowley’s eyes closed, just for a second, collecting himself. The surge those words whipped through him almost tipped him over, the feeling distressingly, beautifully human, more mortal than he'd ever felt outside addiction. A new addiction, then; glorious. He gave a dazed little laugh. "Same goes, angel. But if we don't slow down I'm afraid I'm going to embarrass myself like an adolescent. And I have a reputation to maintain. And a dry-cleaner to explain to." _The truth; completely absurd._ Crowley sat up a little, more controlled for his pause. Hooking one finger into his tie, he tugged it free. Shrugged off his jacket and started on the remaining buttons of his shirt, one by one, gaze never leaving the wide blue eyes that now looked almost too big for 'Jimmy's' face.  
‘Jimmy’ let out a breathless laugh. His eyes stayed wide, glued on Crowley, watching as he stripped. He slowly reached out, hands sliding gently over Crowley's stomach, up his chest. "Beautiful," he breathed.  
Crowley tilted his head, hands covering 'Jimmy's' hands, holding them pressed warm against his chest. _Beautiful?_ He wet his lips with the point of his tongue. Inched up a little, until he straddled ‘Jimmy's’ hips, rocking a gentle pressure again against the swell that strained the fly of his jeans. ‘Jimmy’ let out a shaky breath, fingers digging lightly into Crowley's chest. He pushed his hips up, moaning softly. Eyes stayed locked on Crowley's. "We...we should relocate again," he whispered. _Lube in the nightstand drawer._ Crowley leaned down to press a quick soft kiss to ‘Jimmy's’ mouth, before slinking off the couch, pulling ‘Jimmy’ to his feet and leading him backwards, the few steps to the bedroom door. His hands slid around his waist, beneath the thin jersey of his t-shirt, rucking it up until ‘Jimmy’ let him pull it over his head, revealing an array of tattoos on his torso. Crowley’s stomach did a lazy flip. And ‘Jimmy’ followed him, stumbling a little bit as he did, as he pulled him back towards the bed.

The thought struck Crowley that maybe he should lie down. Be sweet. Give ‘Jimmy’ the lead. The demon disagreed - Crowley wondered for a flash how his eyes looked right now, to the angel squirming breathless beneath him. _Be sweet_ : he grasped both of Jimmy's wrists in one big hand, coaxed them up, arms stretched above his head until his body was one long taut lovely line, jeans riding low on elegant hipbones. Ducking down, Crowley grazed with his lips the illustrations on the angel's skin. Demon ward - no getting inside this one; at least not like _that_. Angel ward, curving graceful around his ribs; Crowley grunted his surprise. _Who's hiding you away from your real family's prying eyes, lover?_ Did that burn him, inked there into a vessel full of celestial intent? He traced it with one finger "Nice. What is it?"

Jimmy arched underneath Crowley's touch, breath shaking. He didn't move his wrists, stayed as he was. "I..." He blinked, brows furrowing in what looked like confusion. "Something about angels..."

"Did it hurt?" Crowley murmured it against smooth skin, the jump of lithe muscle beneath his lips; he fancied the script felt hot, as if it recognised and protested the unclean touch of a demon's kiss.

"Yes." The furrow of Jimmy's brow deepened. "No. I'm not sure." He squirmed a little, seeming uneasy. "I don't remember."

 _No... No more intel gathering… too distracted…_ Slow drag of his tongue up the indent of his hipbone and Crowley popped the fly button of Jimmy's jeans, angled his head to look up at him, his smirk wicked, but his voice soft, "I meant when you fell from heaven."

‘Jimmy’ finally moved one of his hands, bringing it down to drag his fingers through Crowley's hair. "You're ridiculous," he whispered.

"Mmm," Crowley agreed, any further comment from his companion cut short by a surprised little gasp as Crowley hooked fingers into the waistband of ‘Jimmy's’ briefs and tugged them abruptly down, bunched up with his jeans, over his narrow hips. Freed, his cock slapped heavy against his belly. Crowley's head reeled, mouth flooding with spit, voice rough. "Oh, you are to die for."

‘Jimmy’ made a soft noise, fingers fisting in Crowley's hair. He started breathing heavily, squirming a little bit. "I have a confession," he whispered.

"You," Crowley buried his face in the dark curls at the base of him, breathing in that same ever clean water scent, "pick," he parted his lips, planting a kiss, wet and open mouthed, on the base, "your," working up to the tip, hot silk under his lips, "moments..."  
  
‘Jimmy’ whimpered softly. "Oh, that feels good," he breathed, eyes fluttering closed, clearly distracted.

"I've not even begun yet, pet," Crowley murmured. _So wet, already. Sensitive._ The little lightning intrusions into Crowley’s thoughts of 'this is Castiel... _Castiel_ for sin's sake' were getting more infrequent as he lost all rational thought, to heady consuming sensation and scent and - oh, _beautiful_. Lapping a broad stroke with the flat of his tongue, Crowley took him into his mouth, tight and hot and all the way down. _Bet your girlfriend had a gag reflex_ Crowley's brain supplied, gleefully.  
  
"Oh!" ‘Jimmy’ cried out, loud, fingers tugging on Crowley's hair, other hand fisting in the sheets. "Fuck! Please. Oh my gosh, that feels so good." He writhed underneath Crowley, panting heavily and Crowley couldn't hold back his growl, hearing such an obscenity in that gritty-sugar voice. He realised from the helpless thrust of ‘Jimmy’s’ hips how that growl must have vibrated and smiled around his mouthful. _No blaspheming, though, kids._ Bobbing his head, he tried his best to wring out more of those devastating noises.

"I've never..." ‘Jimmy’ whimpered, throwing his head back. "Oh...oh please..." His chest heaved up and down as his hips twitched. "No one's done this. I'm gonna..."

 _You’ve never..? You have_ got _to be kidding me?_ The words went like a bolt straight to Crowley's happy place. Gazing up through his lashes at that flushed _inexperienced_ face, Crowley redoubled his efforts, putting on a show. Dip, twist, faster, one hand slipping between Jimmy's trembling thighs to brush a fingertip against his tight little untouched hole... ‘Jimmy’ gasped in pleasure, spreading his legs. The fingers laced in Crowley’s hair tugged roughly. The lamp next to the bed flickered on and off, on and off and ‘Jimmy’ panted, head thrown back in bliss. "I c-can't...oh fuck!" There was a loud pop as the bulb in the lamp exploded and ‘Jimmy's’ orgasm flooded Crowley's mouth. Crowley moaned, stark in his own ears, fingertips digging into ‘Jimmy's’ circling hips. Riding it, tight to him, throat working. Somewhere off to his right, the tiny plink of cooling filament, splinters of glass settling. The room rosy-dark with only the evening light through the closed drapes. Damn him. He even tasted sweet. Sweet, with the strange soul-heat of emanating grace, like the memory of burning. Crowley lapped through his aftershock shivers, pulling off and placing a kiss on ‘Jimmy's’ softening length. He looked up, mouth open in disbelief. ‘Jimmy’ slowly opened his eyes and looked down at Crowley, panting softly. He glanced at the light, frowned, and then his eyes were back on Crowley. Hands reached down to pull him up his body, pull him down into a kiss. He licked into his mouth and moaned, sliding a hand down to tentatively rub the bulge in Crowley's slacks.

"You're..." It was Crowley's turn to be lost for words. _Beautiful, wonderful, incredible, mine._ Language; suddenly insufficient for this surfeit of feeling. He couldn't get close enough, couldn't feel enough of that warm skin at once, hands roaming, possessive. He pressed into the touch between his thighs, one hand covering ‘Jimmy's’ hesitant palm and pressing it more firmly against his dick. "Right there... Yessss..."  
‘Jimmy’ stared up at Crowley, eyes wide with awe. His tongue darted over his lips and he rubbed more firmly. "I've never touched another man," he confessed in a whisper, hand roaming over his still-clothed cock.

He knew, of course he'd known, really, but Crowley's brain still felt like melting solder at those words, puddling and sizzling, useless for anything but blind stumbling desire. _Could have fooled me, sweetheart_ rang in his head, but "You sure... you want to?" was all he managed to push past his lips, surely the most inarticulate he'd ever been, but oh lord he _ached_ with wanting him.

"I want to please you." ‘Jimmy's’ voice was a low growl - so like the angel he once knew that Crowley shuddered. He squeezed Crowley before beginning to undo his pants, pushing them down. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

Crowley lifted his hips, shuffling to get his suit trousers down; a strait-jacket constriction around his knees, catching on his shoes. _Sod it. He won't notice._ He willed the obstruction onto the floor with a blink, reaching back to flip down the waistband of his underwear, pushing that down too, freeing his dick. _In bed with an angel in nothing but your socks_. He'd lost sight of when he was last this strung out, thrumming and ready to beg for it. ‘Jimmy’ gasped softly at the sight of Crowley's dick. He stroked slowly, squeezing gently, as if testing the waters. Crowley pressed into the uncertain grip of that strong hand, murmured, worshipful, "You're everything. I want to give you everything, make your skin sing." A quiet noise escaped ‘Jimmy’s’ lips at that, and he surged up to kiss him deeply. "Yes... angel... touch me..." If he could think straight Crowley might have hated the pleading in his own voice. Maybe. His hips bucked towards that touch, uncontrollable, the inside of his mouth tingling, fuzzy with building pleasure as ‘Jimmy’ claimed it once more with eager lips. "Harder" that, whispered against his lips. His own hand covered the hand wrapped around his straining cock, guiding the pace and pressure, "Sweet... mercy... Make me... Make me see stars."  
‘Jimmy’ did as he was told, watching the slide of his hand along Crowley's cock. "Show me how," he whispered into his skin.

 _Show me how. Teach me._ Crowley groaned, low, balls tightening, the wild white noise of pure pleasure building to a roar in his ears. "Just touch me..."

‘Jimmy’ stroked faster, panting. "Let me taste it," he whispered, nipping at Crowley's jaw, "Please."

Throwing his head back, Crowley focused on the ceiling, vision going crazy in and out, _so close._ His hands stroked up and down the other man's arms, over the sleek curve of biceps, feeling the soft drag of those kiss-swollen lips at his throat. This was... Not usual. Terrifying in his lack of control. _Ruinous. Glorious._ When he spoke his voice cracked. "Anything you want. Anything. I'm..."

Immediately, Jimmy, flipped them over, seeming to have new found courage – Crowley’s breath caught at that reminder of angelic strength. He continued to stroke Crowley as he kissed a line down his chest and stomach. The first touch of that mouth was electric, skating shivers across Crowley's skin, like lightning building low in his belly. He lapped at the head of Crowley’s dick, moaning: Crowley knew he was a big boy, but the sight of that pink mouth stretched around him, wet and soft and earnest - Crowley groaned, breath coming rapid and ragged, his thighs twitching with the effort of holding back too long, like he was the blushing virgin here. Threading one hand into thick dark hair, he gently urged ‘Jimmy’ away from him. "Stop... Love, I'm going to... I need to come..." ‘Jimmy’ let out a low growl and sucked harder, taking Crowley down further. His fingers dug into Crowley's hips, hard.

"... _Jimmy_." Crowley’s voice cracked as his hips thrust, helpless, grating out that borrowed name as he spilled, ecstatic, into sweet tight heat, his body a plucked chord, a symphony... Jimmy swallowed down every drop, moaning as he continued to suck, milking Crowley's cock. Exhaling shaky hitched breaths, Crowley's hands stroked through Jimmy's mess of dark hair as that talented mouth worked him, past the point of incredible, into delicious sparking over-sensation. When ‘Jimmy’ pulled off, panting heavily, he crawled up, straddling Crowley’s hips, hands cupping his cheeks as he kissed him deeply: slow, long; a claim, Crowley's hand resting heavy on the back of his neck. "If that was your _first_ time..." Crowley's low voice tailed off to a stunned chuckle.

Jimmy made a soft noise of pleasure, hands gently rubbing Crowley's chest. He nuzzled into his neck, kissing at it softly. "Did I do well?"

 _If you're not careful, darling, I'll be demanding an immediate replay._ Crowley gave an affirmative growl, a low rumble, his hands drifting to stroke up and down broad shoulders, the elegant curve of his back, resting to cup that peach of an arse gently - he made a soft noise at that, pushing back into the touch - as his tongue lazily explored Jimmy's mouth for the hundredth time that afternoon. His softening dick twitched, interested again already. "Better than my wildest dreams." His voice sounded strange in his own ears. An unfamiliar tenderness. He cupped one side of Jimmy's face in his palm. "Look at me." Gripping Crowley's arm, breath shaking, he shifted up so that he could look at Crowley, eyes searching his face with obvious curiosity. Crowley gazed back. One thumb traced the angle of a high broad cheekbone. _How long have I thought about this? And here it is. Nothing as I imagined._ He'd fantasised about conflict. Angry slamming and spilled blood and winning some bedroom (throne room, torture chamber...) battle for dominance. Certainly more pyrotechnics than a shattered lightbulb. Now here he was, with more than he could have ever thought to demand. It didn't feel like triumph. It felt like... a blessing. Jimmy studied his face, curious, eyes so wide and blue and guileless. "I can see galaxies in those eyes," Crowley whispered.

Jimmy nuzzled into his touch, turning his head to kiss Crowley's palm, his wrist. He turned back and stared into his eyes. "I can't begin to express what I see in yours," he whispered, "But it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Hell." The word was out before he could stop it. Crowley laughed again, low and maybe a little rueful, for all he was proud of his smoothly-running kingdom.

Frowning, Jimmy looked more thoughtful than upset. He ran his fingers gently through Crowley's hair. "You...you are not Hell. I won't say that what I see is pure, or even light; but the light does exist. Only black is the absence or light. And what I see... what I see is so much more beautiful than that."

Bloody _angels_. Crowley swallowed, thick, the stupid lump in his stupid throat making it harder every second to breathe his unnecessary stupid human breaths. "Jimmy... May I stay? Here, with you, tonight?"

He smiled at that, wide and open. "Please do," he whispered, pressing his forehead to Crowley's as he stroked his cheek.

Like taking a breath after holding it, starved of oxygen. Crowley felt... light. _Strange_. Pressing his forehead against Jimmy's he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Sitting by the door, one supremely unimpressed ginger cat was glaring at them with an expression of open disgust. Holding tight to the man in his arms, Crowley started to laugh.  
  
  
Never had Crowley performed a jauntier walk of shame back into Hell. A glint in his eye, a veritable frigging spring in his step. "Good morning, faithful lackey."

The demon in question physically cringed, hands flying up to throat-level, as if that might protect her. "S-sir?"

"Absolutely," Crowley agreed. "Take the week off. Topside."

He didn't miss the incredulous glances exchanged by more than one minion as he made his way to the throne, a not-quite-quiet-enough whisper of "Is he _whistling_?"

Crowley smirked. "And where is my trusty Right Hand this fine morning?"

"Sire." Lenny appeared like an apparition beside the throne, seemingly from nowhere.

Crowley leaned back, regarding him smugly. "Make the witch priority. Step up efforts to locate her. Focus all resources on finding my bane of a mother."

"Sir?"

"She's interfering with my business. Touching my stuff.” Crowley leaned back, steepling his fingers, a grim expression flashing across his unusually sunny face. “I want her stopped."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy gets an invite to Crowley's house and meets Juliet, then spends the night (and they don't spend it sleeping).

For the next several weeks Jimmy was flying high. More often than not Crowley stayed the night with him. They’d yet to have full intercourse yet, but the things they did do were incredible, leaving Jimmy breathless. He found himself falling with nowhere to land, and was perfectly content with that. The way Crowley spoke, the way he looked at Jimmy, the sparks he felt when Crowley touched him, that beautiful, open look as he orgasmed… It was near impossible not to fall.

Even Whiskers was warming up to Crowley, it seemed. After the first several times Crowley stayed with them the cat finally slept at the foot of the bed once more. Two weeks in Jimmy caught him kneading Crowley’s thigh as they slept. Upon being caught he’d hissed and quickly ran away, but it thrilled Jimmy nonetheless.

There was something so exciting in customers propositioning him and him responding with “I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend”. Perhaps he and Crowley hadn’t had that conversation and agreed that they were in fact official, but by all other standards Jimmy knew they were ‘going steady’. Anyway, he wasn’t interested in anyone else, he didn’t _want_ anyone else. Nobody could make him feel so light, so happy, so _special_.

There was something about watching Crowley walk around the bar, talking with people, while Jimmy was working. He was there frequently: playing pool, chatting up regulars, buying drinks and never getting drunk. Occasionally he’d walk over to the bar, when it wasn’t too busy. “Hello, angel,” he’d purr, or something of the sort. Jimmy wouldn’t be able to help leaning forward, kissing his lips with a sigh of pleasure.

“I don’t know what you see in him, Jimmy,” a woman named Amber had said one night, watching as Crowley hit the side of the vending machine and scooped down to grab a pack of cigarettes. He turned back to wink at Jimmy and the bartender let out a dreamy sigh. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

Jimmy straightened at that, turning to narrow his eyes at Amber. “You do not know him,” he said firmly, “He is a beautiful, wonderful being. Until you know him as well as I do, make no presumptions.”  
Amber’s eyes widened at that and it took a moment before she smirked. “I don’t think you’d ever let me know him _as well as you do_ ,” she purred and Jimmy’s cheeks flushed deeply.

In an instant Crowley was there, a hand pressed to his cheek, thumb stroking over it lightly. Jimmy sighed softly, attention turning to his lover. He nuzzled the touch, kissed Crowley’s wrist, and looked up into his eyes, past the brown to that beautiful smoky red. “Hello,” he whispered.

“Hello, lovely,” Crowley murmured, pressing his lips softly to Jimmy’s and the man sighed happily as he kissed him back. “Order yourself something, would you?” He slid him a bill which Jimmy took, shaking his head.

“That’s hardly necessary,” he told Crowley, though he didn’t try to hand it back. He knew that was useless by now.

“I know,” Crowley replied and leaned in for another kiss, “My angel deserves to be spoiled.” With that he walked away and Jimmy sighed happily. He glanced over to see Amber staring at him.

“ _Oh_ ,” was all she said.

 

Sam and Dean should know. Despite how infrequently they talked, Jimmy was bursting to tell his brothers how happy he was. Jimmy pulled out a notebook and a special pen with fine ink. He sat on his couch and began to write.

He folded the paper meticulously into thirds, slipping it into an envelope. His print was careful with the name and address. The last thing he wanted was for it to get lost. On his way out the door he put it in the outgoing mail, and headed to work. Crowley would be meeting him there at the end of his shift. He was finally going to see his home.

 

About twenty minutes before his shift ended Jimmy was chatting idly with Amber between customers. The doors opened and he caught sight of a familiar black-clad figure that made him brighten, feeling almost giddy. Crowley hopped up onto a stool and rested his elbows on the tables, cupping his chin in both hands, ignoring Amber completely.

Jimmy handed the customer his change and leaned forward to kiss the man. “Hello, Fergus,” he whispered adoringly.

“James.” Crowley raised an elegant eyebrow and Jimmy chuckled softly. He felt uncomfortable when most anyone else called him that, but then everyone referred to Fergus as Crowley. “How’s work been tonight?”

“Much better now you’re here.”

“Oh God, will you two get a room?”

Crowley’s smiled spread into a smirk as he glanced sideways at the woman next to him. “And miss out on the opportunity of annoying you, petal? That would just be a waste.”

“Whatever, Fergus. At least buy me a drink. Call it danger money.”

Jimmy frowned. He wasn’t pleased with the way Amber was talking to his lover, nor her use of the name only Jimmy was allowed to use.

“That’s Crowley, to you, love.” Crowley’s voice hardened just a little bit, but he still pushed a twenty across the bar. “Whatever you’re having, angel, and a vodka cola for the…” His lip curled, a bit theatrically, “ _Lady_.”

“You two play nice,” Jimmy said firmly, brushing his knuckles of Crowley’s hand as he took the money. He poured the vodka and coke, sliding it to Amber, a scotch that he placed in front of Crowley, and a Sex on the Beach for himself.

“Just the one.” Crowley circled his glass on the bar top. “I’m saving myself for tonight. I’ve got a bottle of the good stuff for us back at home.”

“Do you?” Jimmy’s lips twitched up into a small smile. “It must be a special occasion.”

“Absolutely. The lady in my life has never been introduced to any of my friends before. She’s looking forward to meeting you.” Crowley shot a sideways glance at Amber that seemed a bit mischievous. The woman’s eyes widened slightly and she glanced between the two as Jimmy narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what he was missing.

“I’m very excited to meet her too,” he said, deciding that he didn’t care enough to ask.

“She’ll probably try to get on your lap the moment you sit down, but just push her off. She’s very friendly.”

Amber’s eyes only grew wider. What was he missing…? “Maybe I won’t mind having her in my lap.”

“Well. Only if we can take turns.” Crowley’s face seemed neutral. Maybe Jimmy had been imagining things.

“You and I, or her and you?” Jimmy grinned a little and Amber downed the rest of her drink.

“Her and me. But I’ll never say no to her attentions. She’s just so… _enthusiastic_.”

Amber slammed her glass down on the bar and shot them both a glare. “Okay, I’m not dumb. I know you’re talking about his dog or whatever.”

“My cousin,” Crowley said smoothly.

Jimmy’s brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced between the two. “It would be very inappropriate if this was a discussion about your cousin.”

“You are such an asshole,” Amber addressed Crowley, with a sympathetic glance towards Jimmy. He didn’t understand.

Crowley pulled a kissy face at her. “Love you too, sweetheart. But here,” he pulled a sleek black pen from his inside jacket pocket and proceeded to scribble something on the napkin. “Witness: I’m writing our dear bartender a formal apology for my heinous behavior.” What behavior?

Jimmy took the napkin as it was passed to him and opened it. ‘ _My willy is missing you xx’._ Flushing brightly, he ducked his head. “Fergus,” he hissed. Then, quietly, “As is mine yours.”

Crowley made a show of checking his watch. “Five minutes? Here,” he pushed another bill across the bar, “One for the road, for our lovely friend here to drink herself pretty.”

“Don’t be rude. Amber is very pretty,” Jimmy said as he poured her a drink and slid it over, noticing the smirk she sent Crowley.

Crowley hid a smile in his whisky. “Maybe in certain lights. Oh, c’mon - Amy and I are great pals.”

“Amber.”

“Whatever. She knows I’m only teasing.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the drinks, Grandpa Munster.” She turned to Jimmy. “All I gotta say is, I hope he can breathe through his ears or something, because the bank balance alone is _not_ enough.”

Jimmy frowned deeply at that. “I do not appreciate the implications of that statement, Amber. Fergus could be broke for all I care. Don’t be offensive.”

Amber let out a deep sigh as Crowley slid from his stool, grinning. “She’s teasing too, angel. She’s just jealous you got to me first.”

“In your dreams!”

Crowley chuckled. “I’m nipping out for a fag. I’ll be by the car when you’re ready.”

Jimmy frowned, still a bit uncertain, but leaned forward to kiss Crowley softly. “I can’t keep up with the two of you,” he sighed.

“It’s one of your charms,” Crowley whispered in his ear.

 

Jimmy watched as he walked out, catching the man glance over his shoulder before he exited. With a sigh the bartender wiped down the counter. He sold a couple more drinks, clocked out, and hugged Amber before heading outside. Crowley was leaning against the hood of the Bentley, but when he saw Jimmy he stood straight, grinding the sparking filter of his cigarette out under one heel. He held the passenger open, causing Jimmy to smile. _Ever the gentleman._ He brushed his hand over Crowley’s arm as he slipped in, buckling up before settling comfortably.

The door thumped shut as Crowley sat heavily in the driver’s seat, starting the car without bothering with his seatbelt. He fiddled with something on the dash. It didn’t _look_ like there was even a radio, but then music began to play as they pulled out onto the road. “It’s not too far. Just outside of the city.”

Jimmy hummed softly, reaching over to rest his hand on Crowley’s thigh as he drove. He never would have thought himself to be so affectionate, but it was difficult to not touch Crowley for too long. For a long while Jimmy just watched him. The street lights strobed across his face as they drove. He watched a gentle smile settle easily on Crowley’s face, enjoyed the curve of his jaw. He focused on his eyes, gazed upon his lips. All the while he rubbed a thumb gently across his thigh.

For such an old-looking car it was a surprisingly smooth ride. The moon was full tonight. The city blocks gave way to a single lane highway, then country roads. As the scenery changed Jimmy looked out his window. Between the crisscrossed trees he could see the stars, better than he ever could in the city. It was beautiful.

After a long while they took a sharp left down what was surely once a grand driveway, but now more resembled a dirt track, through glowering cypresses and overgrown rhododendrons. The car bounced, suspension complaining at the rough ground. After about a half mile, the gables of a house loomed, silhouetted against the midnight blue dark.

Jimmy leaned forward for a better look, eyes curious. The place looked as if it was once very nice, pristine. Now it looked... well, _haunted_. “This is odd,” he said quietly, unable to help himself. It was certainly not what he’d expected of Crowley’s home. If he didn’t trust the man he would likely have been afraid.

“Yeah.” Crowley pulled what might have been an apologetic face, and Jimmy instantly felt guilty for having said anything. “It’s nicer inside, I promise.” He killed the engine, leaving them in silence punctuated with the little cooling ticks from the car, the faint whisper of wind through trees. “Listen, I’ve…” He hesitated, reaching for Jimmy’s hand. “I’ve never brought someone back here before. Nobody.”

Jimmy squeezed Crowley’s hand gently. “It’s okay,” he said softly, “I’m sure it’s lovely inside, and I’m very flattered to be the one you chose to bring home.” He pressed his forehead to Crowley’s. “I can only hope Juliet will like me.”

“Ah...Yes, about Juliet.” Crowley pulled back to look at him, eyes bright in the shadows of the car. “She’ll adore you, I’m certain. It’s just... She can be a little… intimidating. I mean, she’s quite… big. And a little... unusual looking. But she absolutely will not hurt you.” His tone had taken on an edge that sounded almost pleading and Jimmy felt a strong desire to comfort him. He searched his eyes, focusing more on the red than brown.

“Okay,” he said softly, “I trust you. I’m not afraid, Fergus.” He reached up to stroke his cheek gently. “I’m only nervous she won’t like me. I want her to.”

“Well then. Alright.” Crowley cleared his throat, rubbed his palms against the knees of his suit pants. “We’re going in. Into my house. The two of us. In we go.” It was interesting how nervous Crowley seemed. Jimmy was certain he’d never seen him quite like this. They climbed out and Crowley didn’t bother locking the car when the doors were shut.

Jimmy looked up at the house, noticed a couple of boarded up windows. Even more odd. Striding up to the rickety porch with Jimmy following, Crowley sidestepped a splintered board and rattled the door handle. That didn’t appear to be locked either. Holding the door open he stood back so that Jimmy could tentatively step in. Jimmy’s eyes widened slightly as he took in his surroundings.

“You were not lying when you said that it was nicer inside.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Crowley smiled. He clapped his hands and lights flicked on down the long hallway, all tasteful off-white walls and dark wood. Jimmy’s eyes wandered all across the room, taking everything in. Crowley did seem to enjoy showing off. This shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was incredible. An intricate runner-rug stretched the length of the room and framed artwork hung in every available bit of wall space and… was that a _Rothko_?

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“I’m very pleased you like it,” Crowley’s hand rested on his elbow. “Front room’s through here.”

Jimmy stepped into the room and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of a large, open fireplace, already burning. “Has that just been burning? How do you keep it sustained?”

“What?” Crowley’s gaze flicked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in his eyes. “Oh. I just… tend to keep it going. All the time.” Well that wasn’t safe. Nor did it make sense. When Crowley turned his focus back to Jimmy though, he still seemed nervous, so Jimmy decided to let it go for now. “Why? Are you too warm? You could always take some clothes off. I promise I won’t mind.” Crowley winked, crossed over to a sideboard laid out with a record player next to an array of drinks paraphernalia. “Whisky alright, or would you prefer a cuppa?”

“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Jimmy whispered, pressing in close to Crowley and kissing his jaw. He rubbed his arm, trying to soothe him. “Whisky is fine. As if the fire.”

“Make yourself at home then, angel.” He nodded towards the couch opposite the fireplace. “I’ll go and fetch Juliet, then. It might be better if you’re sitting down.” He handed Jimmy a cut crystal tumbler containing easily four fingers of Scotch, and Jimmy sat down. Moments after Crowley left the room there was the sound of another door opening, then the unmistakable click of claws on polished oak boards. Jimmy smiled a bit. And then Crowley walked back in with a dog unlike any Jimmy had ever seen in his life. She was larger than the largest dog he’d encountered. Her fur was a bit matted, teeth pointed, her claws looked razor sharp. Her ears were spiky, eyes bright red. She was stunning.

“Juliet,” Crowley’s voice sounded if anything a little tense. “This is Jimmy. I like him very much, so don’t show me up, now. Jimmy…” He sank down next to Jimmy on the Chesterfield, leather creaking gently, and patted the floor to signify ‘sit down’ to the huge creature. Juliet obediently dropped to a crouch at their feet.

 _I like him very much_. Jimmy smiled to himself. That felt nice. He reached out to let Juliet sniff him, then stroked her head gently. “You are beautiful,” he murmured, genuine.

Crowley’s eyebrows raised incredulously high, then his expression softened. “You’re not, y’know… scared of her, or anything?” He reached out, petting alongside Jimmy, their fingers crossing in the hound’s tangled fur. “Because let me tell you, the mail-man did _not_ like her.”

Jimmy tipped his head to the side curiously. “Of course I’m not scared. She’s absolutely lovely.”

“She’s not the only one.” Crowley sounded slightly awed. Shifting on the couch he draped an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, pulling him close. Jimmy leaned against him easily, content there. “She’s smart, too. Look. Juliet? Shake hands. Shake hands, there’s a girl.”

Jimmy smiled, loving the way Crowley spoke to the dog. He clearly loved her very much. The dog snorted, like a teenager embarrassed by ‘proud papa’ mode, but her spiky ears still pricked up as she raised a paw the size of a dinner plate. Jimmy took the paw, his hand feeling rather small, and shook it happily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Juliet.”

The little exhale of laughter Crowley let out tickled against his neck. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Crowley said softly. “Juliet, lie down.” Placing her nose on her front paws, the hound complied. Crowley retrieved his drink from the floor by the couch, taking a long swallow, eyes sliding shut.

Jimmy watched him, smiling softly. He sipped his own drink and curled up to his lover’s side, nosing gently at his neck. “Do you think she likes me, then?”

“Oh, she definitely likes you. You still have all your fingers.”

Jimmy chuckled, stroking Crowley’s chest. “So.” He paused, fiddling with one of the buttons on the man’s shirt. “What…” He looked up. “What… breed… _exactly_ … is Juliet?”

He felt rather than saw the curl of Crowley’s smile against his hair. Crowley reached out one leg and patted Juliet with his socked foot, just where the sort of spiny ridges along her back met the sort of spiky protrusions of her ears. “Mongrel,” he said, sounding like he was trying hard not to laugh.

Jimmy smacked lightly at his chest and leaned forward, scratching behind Juliet’s ear. “That’s hardly a nice word, Fergus.”

Crowley chuckled, drawing one finger lightly down the back of Jimmy’s neck, making him shiver. “Crossbreed then. Best in show. Very intelligent. Elegant. Stunning eyes. Wait… were we talking about Juliet, or…?”

Jimmy ruffled Juliet’s fur and leaned back against Crowley, this time facing him. His smile was shy. “Well, there was the crossbreed bit.”

Crowley took his hand and threaded their fingers together, bringing them up to press a kiss against Jimmy’s knuckles. “I’m still having a rather hard time believing a creature like you is all human. Not even a little bit of angel in there, angel?”

Jimmy flushed, ducking his head shyly. He leaned in, kissing at his jaw lightly. “I’m fairly certain,” he murmured, nuzzling Crowley.

Catching his chin between two fingers, Crowley tilted his face up to look at him. Said quietly, “Open your eyes.” The light in the room seemed to grow a bit brighter when he did, a soft emanating glow. “Those eyes make sapphires look like loose change.”

Jimmy’s breath caught as he stared into Crowley’s eyes. Fingers curled lightly in his shirt and he pressed their foreheads together. “You are far too much,” he breathed, lips brushing against the other man’s.

Crowley’s fingertips skimmed the back of his neck, his mouth as gentle in return as Jimmy’s; faint, dry brush of lips and shared breaths, ghosting, noses just touching, rubbing together, cheek to cheek the sweep of long eyelashes against skin. Jimmy nuzzled Crowley’s cheek gently, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his beard against skin. He kissed just below his ear, slid a hand up his arm. “I can hardly believe you’re mine,” he whispered.

“I can hardly believe I’m yours,” Crowley agreed, some strange undercurrent of _something_ in his tone, swiftly replaced by a contented sigh. He brought a hand up to cup Jimmy’s cheek, fingertips tracing the bridge of his nose, the bow of his lips. Jimmy leaned into the touch, kissing his fingertips, lips brushing over his wrist as he rubbed his shoulder. “And I’m yours,” he breathed.

“And I’m the luckiest creature that ever crawled the face of this green earth.” Crowley looked fascinated, enthralled, like he was trying to read mysteries in Jimmy’s fire-lit eyes. “You’re incredible. I don’t deserve you and I don’t care.” The hand cradling the back of his neck twined fingers in his hair, more urgent, possessive.

Jimmy couldn’t take any more. He leaned forward to kiss Crowley, deep and a bit desperate. He pressed closer, moving to straddle him, fingers curled in his shirt to keep him close. “You’ve no idea what you deserve,” he whispered, “I want you show you.”

Crowley groaned, low and enraptured, rocking upwards like he couldn’t help himself. Jimmy moaned, rolling his hips down in response. Crowley gripped his waist. “At the risk of sounding like a twelve year old at a slumber party,” his voice was rougher already. Jimmy loved it, “Would you like to see my bedroom?”

“I hope you want to show me for very different reasons than a twelve year old would,” he whispered, “And I would love to see it.”

Slipping hands under Jimmy’s thighs, Crowley stood, lifting him briefly before setting him down standing on the rug, hands warm at his waist. Jimmy sighed in pleasure at the touch. “Juliet, stay. One voyeuristic animal in this family is enough.” He chuckled quietly against the side of Jimmy’s neck. “Two, including me.”

Jimmy’s breath caught at that. He wet his lips, turned to Crowley, fingers curling in his tie, and tugged him in for a deep, hungry kiss. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When he pulled away, Crowley chased his lips, pressing kiss after kiss as he backed them unsteadily toward the door. Juliet lifted her head, watched them impassively for a moment, then went back to staring at the fire. Crowley finally drew back when they reached the foot of the stairs. He took Jimmy’s hand, leading him wordlessly into the silent darkness. Jimmy followed close behind Crowley, holding tight to his hand.

“It’s this one.” Crowley’s voice seemed ever so slightly shaky. Lust? Nerves? As he pushed open the heavy door it seemed like ranks of candles fluttered into flame, casting deep dancing shadows on dark polished furniture - desk, chairs, an edifice of a wardrobe - and a huge bed that dominated the center of the room. Jimmy had the brief thought that this home was a complete fire hazard, but was too distracted to comment.

“Beautiful,” he breathed as he took in the room. _Romantic_. He shivered, tugging Crowley toward the bed.

Crowley’s fingertips drew patterns up his bare forearms, spirals and waves; the shapes of feathers and flames. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on Jimmy’s hips, keeping him standing, facing him. The corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up in a wicked little smile that sent shivers down Jimmy’s spine as he pushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Did I hear correctly before, that you intended to keep a certain something in mind?” Crowley said. He tilted his head, eyes heavy lidded, gaze hot.

Jimmy flushed slightly. It’d been a passing comment, he’d had an idea, but he hadn’t thought they would be talking about it now. “Yes,” he admitted quietly, “That you’re a voyeuristic animal.”

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Crowley’s fingers caressed Jimmy’s hips, finding their clever way beneath his t-shirt to stroke at the smooth skin there. Jimmy’s eyes fluttered closed, lips parted slightly as he stroked Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley’s voice was like smoke. “What did you mean by that?”

“I...That perhaps I would give you something to watch sometime.”

“Promises…” Crowley’s hands drifted to his lower back, teased at the waistband of his jeans. “Care to oblige me, kitten? I mean, no time like the present.”

Jimmy swallowed hard, breath shaking, cheeks flushed more darkly. “I thought I’d have more time to prepare,” he murmured nervously, “To make it more sexy.”

“Prepare…?” A low, fascinated purr, “How _precisely_ were you planning on _preparing_ , pet?” Crowley’s hands drifted lower, rubbing the backs of Jimmy’s trembling thighs through his jeans, making Jimmy let out a little noise of pleasure, pressing back into the touch. “I think you should tell me…”

“I… if you’re into this sort of thing, I um…” He ducked his head, embarrassed. Nobody else knew about this. “I have a pair of panties.”

Crowley inhaled, long and shuddering. His fingers tightened, curling around to stroke Jimmy’s inner thighs:  it felt possessive, and Jimmy didn’t mind one bit. Crowley let the breath go, calm, measured. His voice sounded much less calm. “Do you, indeed? And how did you come by those, I wonder?”

“I bought them,” Jimmy breathed. How else?

“You bought them... for _yourself_?” Crowley’s throat clicked softly as he swallowed.

Jimmy bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yes. Who else would I buy them for? If you’re not interested I don’t have to wear them...”

“I’m interested.” All cool abandoned for a second; an urgent, lust-drunk whisper. It relaxed Jimmy. “Have you worn them yet?” His hands kept moving, pushing up the hem of Jimmy’s shirt, baring the taut curve of Jimmy’s belly to his adoring lips. Jimmy’s breath shook, fingers tightened in Crowley’s hair as he pressed forward, a soft whine escaping his lips.

“Yes.” His voice shook as much as his breath. “Twice. I… I like them. A lot.”

“Were you on your own?” Crowley scraped a gentle edge of teeth across one sleek hipbone.

Jimmy furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate. He panted softly at the attention to his hipbone. Fingers tugged gently on Crowley’s hair. “N-not the first time. I wore them to work,” he managed, “The… the second time, yes. I was touching myself.”

Crowley exhaled a little laugh against the warm skin of his belly. “You wore them to work. You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?” Hands moved to Jimmy’s belt, sliding it free and popping the button of his jeans, tugging them down along with briefs. Jimmy’s hard cock sprang free, slapping against his belly. He pressed in closer to Crowley, wanting to climb into his lap, but not doing so. It seemed he was being given instructions tonight, and he was more than happy to follow them. “Off.” Crowley pulled at Jimmy’s pants, then, as he dutifully stepped free, “How does it feel, wearing them?”

“Really good,” he whispered, “They’re so soft against my penis. It was difficult not to be hard at work. That’s why I didn’t wear them again.”

“And when you touched yourself? What did you think about? Tell me.” Crowley pulled him closer, directing him to straddle his knees which Jimmy did easily, sitting in his lap facing him, clad in only his t-shirt.

Arms draped over Crowley’s shoulders, hooking around his neck. “You,” Jimmy whispered, “You touching me, rubbing me through them while you kiss me. You sliding your hand inside and fingering me, stretching me open for you. Pushing them aside and shoving into me.” He moaned, pressing his face into Crowley’s neck and grinding down against him. The man beneath him shifted his knees apart, the movement spreading Jimmy’s thighs wide.

Crowley’s lips were at his throat, desperate and adoring. Fingers stroked down the cleft of his ass, circling there. Crowley’s voice was a low growl against his jugular. “I love it when you blush. I can feel it, you know, all hot under my lips. I love it when you tell me what I want to know, even when it makes you squirm. Show me how you touch yourself, angel.” His voice dropped even lower, words a deliberate purr, “Show me right now.”

Jimmy let out a choked moan, kissing at Crowley’s shoulder through his suit. It hit him that the man was still fully dressed while he was nearly naked, sitting in his lap. The idea was far more arousing than he would have expected it to be. He slid his hand down, fingers wrapping loosely around his cock, stroking slowly. “Is that what you want?” He whispered as he pulled back to look at Crowley, giving him space to watch. Crowley’s eyes were glowing coals. Every tentative stroke seemed to stoke their fire.

“That’s what I want.” His voice was rough, silky, “Good boy.” Jimmy let out a soft moan at the praise, free hand gripping Crowley’s shirt more tightly. A hand slid beneath Jimmy’s t-shirt, flat against the small of his back, holding him. The other, between his legs, continue to circle, fingertips teasing. “You’re delicious, you know. Divine.”

Jimmy tightened his grip on his own cock just so, panting as he continued to stroke. He pushed his hips back slightly, toward the touch. “Please,” he gasped.

Crowley shifted beneath him - leaning forward to kiss him dizzy, leaning back for a view of his display - like he couldn’t decide whether touching or watching was his priority. His mouth brushed Jimmy’s throat and Jimmy tipped his head back, exposing more skin. Crowley’s lips were warm, the touch of them too light. The fingers teasing him were frustrating, and the erection Jimmy felt when he rocked his hips just spurred him on more. “Please, what? Tell me what you want, angel.”

“Stop teasing. Give me at least one finger. Inside of me.” Jimmy felt the smile against his skin. The hand between his legs withdrew, but only long enough for Crowley to suck on three fingers, eyes never leaving Jimmy’s, putting on a show. It did what Crowley intended, Jimmy was sure, creating the mental image of those lips around his cock, sucking him all the way down. Jimmy squeezed around the base of his cock to keep himself under control. The returning press was easier, but not by much. One fingertip. Jimmy whined, pushing back. “Fergus,” Jimmy breathed, “Please.”

Crowley’s hips rocked, the kisses he pressed to Jimmy’s neck becoming more like delicate bites. The finger working him open pushed in deeper, slowly, twisting. A second finger rubbing alongside it, trying to press in. Jimmy was quickly becoming more and more of a mess, lost in the feeling of Crowley’s fingers, his teeth and lips, his hard cock. Crowley bit out a frustrated groan. “I want you on the bed. Hold onto me.” When Jimmy obligingly wrapped both arms tightly around his neck he stood, turned, and laid him down on the bedding. Legs wrapped around Crowley’s waist, pulling him down to him, fingers loosening his tie and making quick work of shirt buttons. It was such a stark contrast to their first time together. Jimmy was just as eager, but not nearly as nervous. His fingers didn’t fumble the way they did before, and soon he was pushing Crowley’s shirt open. His breath caught, hands pressing to Crowley’s chest. It was the same every time, the effect it had. Crowley was so incredibly beautiful, so sexy, so enchanting. Jimmy wanted to kiss, to taste, every inch of his glorious body. His fingertips ran through chest hair before he wrapped his fingers around the tie that hung loosely from Crowley’s neck and used it to tug him down, urgent kisses pressing to his chest.

Shrugging his way out of jacket and shirt, Crowley dropped them over the side of the bed without pulling too far away from Jimmy’s adoring mouth. One hand balancing him, the other moved to undo his suit pants at last, pushing them down enough to pull his cock free with a rapturous little moan. His hand sought Jimmy’s, pulled it to him. Jimmy looked down, moaning at the sight of Crowley’s cock. Massive, it was. Intimidating, if he was being honest. Mouth-watering, the foremost thought in his mind. He stroked slowly, squeezing it.

“See how hard you make me, angel, how wet? This is how much I want you.”

“I should take care of it then,” Jimmy whispered, “How do you want me to?”

Crowley’s breath was definitely coming faster, his usual suave composure rapidly dissolving as he thrust into Jimmy’s fist, making him moan, ache for more. “I want you every way. All at once.” Crowley’s words summed up how Jimmy felt. “Wait.” Crowley pressed a kiss to his forehead before he pulled away, wriggled swiftly out of the rest of his clothing, except the tie which still swung loose around his neck. Jimmy ran a hand along his side as he ducked down beside the bed, unable to stop touching him for too long. A moment later he reappeared with a little bottle that he tossed onto the covers by Jimmy’s side. Then Jimmy gripped him, pulled him down so their cocks pressed together as Jimmy bucked his hips. “Off.” Crowley’s voice was low and urgent, his hands pushing Jimmy’s t-shirt up over his belly. As Jimmy struggled it off Crowley knelt over him, kissing a path, sloppy and desperate, down his chest. Fitting his hands behind Jimmy’s knees he pushed his legs back, up and out, rocking him backwards. “Oh, sweet mercy.” The words were a low hiss, breath warm against the inside of Jimmy’s thighs before Jimmy felt the first lap of that skilful tongue.

He threw his head back, fingers fisted in Crowley’s hair, and he pushed his hips back, panting softly. “Oh...Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasped out, eyes screwing tightly shut. At every little noise, every hitched breath, Crowley’s tongue thrust deeper. He let go of one leg, fingers digging instead into the sensitive flesh, spreading him, just the right side of rough. Pulling back he replaced tongue with fingers - two now, easier - looking up at Jimmy, lips spit-shiny, expression almost dazed.

Jimmy whimpered softly, pushing back against the fingers. He looked down at Crowley, hand pushing through his hair adoringly. “That feels so good.”

“You make my head spin.” Crowley’s mouth closed around the head of Jimmy’s cock, not so much sucking, but lapping, lazy and noisy, luxuriating. He looked beautiful.

“You’re one to talk,” Jimmy moaned as he watched him. Fingers moved still deeper. When Crowley looked up, his eyes were wide.

“More?”

“Please.” Jimmy’s voice shook as he spoke.

“We don’t have to…” Crowley licked his lips, reached for the little bottle lost among the covers, “go all the way.” His cheek nuzzled the inside of Jimmy’s thigh. “I just want to touch you.”

Jimmy made a soft noise, Crowley’s beard tickling his skin. He stroked his thumb over the man’s temple, swallowing thickly. “I want whatever you want.”

“Then come here.” Crowley shifted up the bed again, holding one arm out for Jimmy to rest his head against his chest. He carefully coaxed him to roll over, so Crowley was pressed close against his back, holding him tight, the rigid heat of his dick pressing slick against the of small of his back and making Jimmy moan as he rubbed against it. There was the click of a lid, followed by the chemical scent of cherries, then Crowley’s fingers were back, teasing down the cleft of his ass, pressing slippery inside him. He moaned, pressing his face into the pillows and pushing back against the fingers.

Crowley’s lips brushed the back of his neck, the curve of his ear, smoky voice whispering a nonsense babble of praise, endearments and curses, making Jimmy an absolute mess in his arms. “I love you like this, in my arms, so tight, so hot and tight. I want you, Jimmy.” There was pressure as he half withdrew, added a third finger, an aching stretch. Crowley groaned, rutting a little more urgently against the dip of his back. “Sweet sin, how I want you, angel. Do you like this? Tell me. Tell me you’re mine. You’re only mine.”

“I’m yours. Only yours. Only ever been yours,” Jimmy panted, gripping the arm wrapped around him tightly, “I want you so badly. I _need_ you. Please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you…” Crowley was breathing hard now, sharp edge of teeth dragging at the taut tendons of Jimmy’s neck: Jimmy tipped his head back, elongating, exposing more skin. Fingers twisted, thumb pressing behind Jimmy’s balls, making him cry out in pleasure.

“I don’t feel pain,” he breathed, “Not the physical sort.”

“...What?” Crowley jolted a little, his voice uncertain. “But… you feel pleasure? You feel _this_?” His fingers thrust quicker, little wet noises filling the room, their gasping breaths, the slight shifting of the bed beneath them.

“Yessss,” Jimmy moaned loudly, “Yes. Oh my gosh, _yes_. I feel it. It feels so good.” He pushed his hips back, desperate for more.

It was difficult to pull him any closer, but Crowley managed, the arm wrapped around him winding tighter, fingers skimming across one nipple, making Jimmy arch. His breath was warm in Jimmy’s ear, voice raw. “Let me have you. Please. Please, let me have you…”

“Yes,” Jimmy gasped, “Take me. I’m yours. I need you. I need to feel you. Please.”

Crowley’s breath was fast and harsh. When he carefully withdrew his fingers Jimmy felt the cold slip of more lube dripping. Something thicker lining up, nudging him open. Just the tip, a fat blunt pressure. A palm curled around his hip, steadying him. Crowley angled his pelvis, pressing forward, _in_ , gentle but relentless. His moan matched Jimmy’s, sounding like a sob of relief. The pressure was odd, but as Jimmy had suspected, not painful: he gripped Crowley’s arms tight and forced his body to relax, wanting more. Rocking his hips, fast but shallow, Crowley pushed a few inches in. The hand on Jimmy’s hip moved to curl around his dick, jerking him slowly. Jimmy pushed back against Crowley. He panted, clawing at Crowley’s arm. “Yesss, oh my gosh, yes.”

“More?”

Jimmy nodded quickly. “Please?”

“Lift your… like this…” Crowley’s broad hands arranged him, right knee bent, lifting his leg a little. It changed the angle and Crowley gasped against the nape of Jimmy’s neck, his hand wrapping back around his cock, sliding further inside him. “Oh...my...You’re…” His hips shuddered, like holding back was an effort, one Jimmy wished he would stop making. “You’re perfect.” His whisper buzzed against warm skin. “Do you know how hard… not to just… pound you… Oh, sweet… Jeeeez...”

That was all Jimmy could take. He reached back, grasping Crowley’s hip, pulling hard, forcing him all the way inside. His eyes rolled back; he let out a long moan. “Oh, Fergus. Please!” he cried out, grinding back against him. The feeling was odd, but there was so much pleasure as well. Crowley let out a snarl, a long, inarticulate, half-feral noise of pleasure. The hand on Jimmy’s cock squeezed tighter, jerking him faster, as Crowley finally, _finally_ lost his battle with restraint (thank the heavens), and started to slam him in earnest, hips circling, in to the hilt, a sweet, brutal slide. Jimmy’s nails dragged hard along Crowley’s arm, leaving angry red marks in their wake. He felt so full in the most perfect of ways. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, gosh! Like that. Don’t stop. _Don’t you dare stop_.” Those last words were a growl, a demand.

“Never. Forever.” Crowley’s voice was harsh, honeyed. His hips bucked, thumb swiped over the soaking head of his lover’s cock. Jimmy whimpered, eyes screwed tightly shut. Fingers tangled in the sheets and he worked back against Crowley as well as he could. “Angel… love, I’m… You’re gonna make me lose it.” So close. They couldn’t be closer. Crowley’s chest was pressed flush against his back. Not even thrusting now, just grinding deep, _deep_. “Jimmy… please… Just this one time…” His voice was breathless, uncertain: it made Jimmy curious. Crowley’s hand briefly left his cock, guiding Jimmy’s own hand to wrap around something… his tie, still knotted around his neck. “Hard as you can, angel?”

The request was surprising, but even more of a surprise was the arousal that it sent flowing through him, the trust Crowley must have. He shuddered and nodded. “J-just… tap me if it’s too hard,” Jimmy whispered, a bit afraid of his own strength. He gripped the tie tightly, pulling it until it was snug around his lover’s neck. And then he continued to pull.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Crowley sounded, if anything, a little astonished. Had he thought Jimmy wouldn’t give him what he wanted? He groaned out a curse, followed by a blissed-out moan of pure surrender, hips and hand continuing to work in a strict rhythm as he held Jimmy down hard on his cock, pulsing inside of him. “Yes… _Oh… Love…_ I…” His cries were cut off, strangled, ecstatic.

Jimmy turned his head, desperate to see Crowley’s face. The tie around his neck dug into his skin, face a bit red. He looked absolutely beautiful. Moaning, Jimmy clenched around his cock, working his own quickly. “I’m close.”

“What have you done to me, you perfect creature?” Crowley sounded dizzy, drunk, hips still moving, lazily now. His fingers closed around Jimmy’s slender hand, both of them working him in tandem. His voice was barely above a gruff whisper. “I love you.”

Jimmy gasped, releasing the tie. His hand came to the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him into a desperate if awkward kiss. “I love you too,” he moaned against Crowley’s lips as he came, clenching tight. Crowley’s hand kept moving, stroking him through it, Jimmy shuddering in his arms. When he stilled, Crowley twined their fingers, slick with Jimmy’s release. Jimmy shivered at the feeling of it, painted up his stomach.

“Come here, handsome. Let me kiss you properly.”

He very slowly pulled off Crowley’s cock, gasping as it slipped free. He cupped his cheek with his clean hand, kissing him softly. “I love you,” he whispered again. Crowley returned the kiss, sweet but deep, a blush rising across his cheekbones, much to Jimmy’s surprise. The first time he’d met Crowley, Crowley had been sarcastic, unflappable, but now - he pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s my first time, too,” Crowley whispered. “First time I’ve said that to anybody. Swore I never would.” His hand moved slowly, up and down Jimmy’s side.

Jimmy made a soft noise, fingers pushing through Crowley’s hair. He smiled gently, overwhelmed by so many feelings. “I’m glad to be the exception.”

“It feels…” Crowley kissed his hair, voice dropping lower, “Dangerous.”  He took a deep breath. “You okay, sweetheart?” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to take a look and check…?”

Jimmy’s lips twitched up as well as he looked up at Crowley. “That may be a good idea,” he murmured, “You’re awfully large. We should make sure there’s no damage.”

“Turn over.” The bed felt soft beneath Jimmy, melting. He sighed in contentment as he rolled onto his stomach. Crowley’s touch was firm on his shoulders, kneading slowly, lower down his back. “Let me kiss it better.”

“Please,” Jimmy breathed.

“Mother of sin, you’re gorgeous.” Crowley’s tongue was lazy this time, dipping in easily, fingers spreading him wide. Jimmy moaned softly, face pressing to the pillow. He fought to keep still, to just enjoy the feeling and not get worked up again. When Crowley finally flopped down next to him on the pillows his grin looked too big to be contained. “Cherry. My favorite. You should taste yourself, darling. Really.” He rolled closer, pressing a kiss to Jimmy’s lips.

“I think it’s the taste of you I like,” Jimmy whispered, and snuggled closer. “Hold me.”

Arms tightened around him, encircling him in a close embrace. “Always,” Crowley murmured, “Now I’ve found you, I’m never letting you go.”

“You’d better not,” Jimmy whispered, closing his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

His subjects were noticing.  
  
"It's 'cause he's horny. Distracted, he is. Simmons overheard him - he's got a new fuck-bunny, word is some human guy. He's gone totally soft over-"  
The demon’s eyes widened in horror as he noticed Crowley standing in the doorway. "Sir, I-"  
Crowley checked his nails. Smiled pleasantly. "Rest assured, petal, I am _never_ _soft_ around my new - what was that colourful phrase, again?"  
"...fuck bunny, Sire?"  
"Ah! Very good. I'll use that one. Now, toddle off." He waved a hand. The demon looked unsure. "Go on. On your way."  
"Sir, thank you Sir."  
As he passed, Crowley grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close, his voice low, dangerous as a rusty blade. "I'm not despatching you right now because you don't deserve that courtesy. Watch your back, little cockroach - I'll see you before you see me."  
The man squeaked and scampered. Crowley unpeeled a grim smile. "Anyone else have anything to contribute?"  
There was a quiet, respectful cough. Marvin stepped forward, hands behind his back. "Yes, your Majesty." he said. "We have the witch."  
  
In his throne room, Crowley took a moment to compose himself first. To arrange himself with a suitable air of careless arrogance: these things don't happen by accident; a game-face needs to be carefully cultivated, even when your insides are a maelstrom of anger and nerves. Crowley clicked his fingers. A glass of Scotch appeared in his hand. He sucked his cheeks in. Took a breath. Waved the other hand to swing open the throne room doors, watching down his nose as the small, slight figure who really shouldn't be so imposing was ushered in, two demons supporting the iron chains that joined the cuffs at her wrists.  
Rowena held her head high, chin tipped up. She looked down her nose at the minions guiding her way, as if she was above it all. Her eyes landed on Crowley and her expression turned appealing. "Fergus, is this really necessary?"  
"The name," Crowley lifted his head, his tone light and reasonable, "is _Crowley_. And yes, mother dear. I am acquainted well enough with you to know that it is _absolutely_ necessary. Plus," he swirled the Scotch in his glass and narrowed his eyes, anything but amused, "it's entertaining."  
Rowena narrowed her eyes as well, expression all too similar. She tugged herself free from the demons holding her, though she was still chained so it didn't make much of a difference. "I'm shocked at how little respect you have for your mother, how little compassion."  
His laugh almost stuck in his throat. "Oh, oho... _compassion_? Yes, mother. Let's talk about compassion. The last little tête-à-tête we had, I seem to recall the small matter of you," Crowley's voice rose as he leaned forward, "attempting to _arrange my demise by angel_!"  
Rowena raised her brows, expression calm. "And clearly it didn't work," she said, spreading her hands out, "So what _is_ all the fuss for?”  
A bitter little laugh escaped before Crowley could stop it. He leaned back, stroking his chin. "Of course. Let me guess. Just testing me? Another exercise in motivation? Tell me, why should I not just end you, right now? To ensure that you don't," he tilted his head, stared at her, hard, "try to set your pet angel on me again."  
A look of surprise flashed across her face, but she quickly schooled the expression into neutrality. "If that was your plan, surely you would have done it by now."  
"Well. As you're so fond of pointing out, we're family. Blood." Crowley broke out what he knew to be his most unsettling smile. He nodded to the two demon henchmen still hovering by the door. "Leave us. Mother and I have a little... catching up, to do."  
Rowena gave the two demons a little huff and stepped forward towards Crowley. "Will the shackles remain necessary, Fergus? My delicate wrists can only handle so much."  
"Yes, Mother, veritable fragile lily that you are, those cuffs are staying put." His voice was a growl. That name from anyone else, now, was beyond intolerable: it was an affront. "Unless, of course, you decide to cooperate." He took a sip of whisky, hating the way his heart pounded, thundering in his temples even though he was certain he must look as bored and impassive as ever. "Anything you'd like to share with me? Say, some information about our harp-plucking amigo?"  
Rowena dropped her wrists, even as she clearly fought to remain calm. She eyed Crowley with something akin to curiosity. "Is there something I should know other than my son, the King of Hell, apparently lacks the strength to kill one simple angel?"  
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Yes, shame on me, can't even snuff out one itty bitty enraged seraph hopped up on attack dog mojo, whilst I'm rooted to the spot by my _evil, backstabbing bitch of a mother!_ Well.” He cleared his throat, composing himself. “Clearly, I did outsmart you. Again. And here we are. Again. Don't _make me ask again_ \- what have you done to Castiel?"  
"There is no need to raise your voice at me, boy!" Rowena shouted back, clearly ruffled. She took a deep breath, patted down her hair with her chained hands. "I haven't seen him since the curse, Fergus. With any luck he's killed those bloody Winchesters."  
Crowley narrowed his eyes. Studied her. He was good at reading people and even though she was canny, conniving, they were so - he could spit even admitting it to himself - _similar_ that he was sure he could tell if she was lying. Then again, she'd hoodwinked him before. Too many times. He was cursed with a gross sentimentality for a mother he never knew, because she never sodding existed: this was his reality, right here. _Jimmy is your reality_ , the voice in his head unhelpfully reminded him. "Well." His voice was silky. "If you haven't seen him, and I haven't seen him... am I to take it that there's a rogue seraph on the loose out there? Do you have any idea what that curse will do to an angel in the long term, or did you just cast it and hope?" He tutted, quietly. "Irresponsible, mother."  
Rowena brushed off the shoulder of her dress, seemingly unconcerned with the idea. "Och, it's no that horrendous. He kills a few people, then gets himself killed. Likely, he isn't on the loose out there. No need to fret."  
"So, he's dead then? In your educated opinion? You haven't, oh, I don't know... cast any more enchantments upon him for fun and profit?"   
Crowley raised his eyebrows, questioning and Rowena lifted her head to look at him, expression curious as she stepped closer. "What sort of enchantments might I be casting?"  
_Oh, bollocks_. Crowley caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Up until that point he'd been certain she was bluffing, but the first hint of interest on her part, and... His fingers tapped on the armrest of his throne, one twitch away from flinging open the doors and summoning a gaggle of lackeys to drag the infernal harridan away to her own private cell complete with hot and cold running torment. But he had to be sure. "You tell me. Why on earth would someone like you want to hang on to a creature bursting full of all that power?"  
"Plenty of reason," Rowena said, taking another step forward, "I see no reason having an angel up my sleeve wouldn't be useful, do you?" At the foot of the throne now, she peered at him. Narrowed eyes that then lit up with realisation. "You've been using magic, Fergus."  
"How many times do I have to tell you, it’s-" Crowley gritted his teeth together, hissing a breath in through them as he realised what she’d just said. He forced his tone sarcastic. "I've been using magic? Yes, frequently. How astute of you to notice."  
Rowena tipped her head just so, eyeing him. "Hearts Desire?”  
"...What?" Damn her. _Damn her!_  
“Whatever for? I wasn't aware demons had hearts."  
Crowley's heart - oh, he had one, was certainly aware of it these days - skipped a horrified beat. "I haven't the foggiest what you're banging on about."  
Rowena laughed delightedly. "You think I don't recognize the effects of a spell on my own son when I see them? You've been using Heart's Desire. It's weakening you."  
Crowley swallowed, uncertainty zipping cold around his veins. _It's weakening you. There's your proof._ Although... any excuse to manipulate him. "You say weaken. I say," Crowley put on a theatrical falsetto, too quietly for his minions to actually hear him "guards, guards, to the dungeon with her!" He glared at Rowena, pointedly. "Let's drop the pretence, shall we. I know you've done something to Castiel. Your choices are as follows: don't tell me what, and I _will_ have you thrown back into that dungeon. Tell me what and... I _may_ have you thrown back into the dungeon. Your choice, Mother dearest.”  
Rowena glared at Crowley, clearly not as happy as she'd been a moment ago. "I haven't done a single thing to that angel since I sent him after you," she said with a tiny shrug.  
Was she, for once in her miserable life, actually telling the truth? Perhaps torture was in order. Crowley's stomach turned oddly at the thought - perhaps she really did have a point about the spell making him soft. In any case, she didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood, so: "I see you've made your decision. Enjoy your stay at Casa del Hades." Crowley raised his hand, fingers poised to click.  
"Wait!" Rowena placed her hands out, placating. Her voice was calmer when she spoke again. "Wait. What's the difference in Castiel? What's happened to him?"  
Crowley tilted his head. Sure, she'd sell him out for a candy bar, but she valued her own hide. He couldn't let her go, but he could negotiate the conditions of her captivity, and negotiation of terms was something that Crowley _always_ excelled at. What harm in laying his cards on the table, if she was going nowhere anyway? So, if she’d not cast a new spell on purpose, what of accidental overspill of the one he knew she did cast..? He spoke carefully. "Side effects of your friendly little doggy spell, when applied to celestial beings. Say - amnesia, for instance?"  
Rowena frowned at that, seeming thoughtful. "Only if the amnesia were incredibly severe," she answered, "He wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a threat and an ally."  
_I'm no threat._ Crowley shook himself a little. _Of course I'm a bloody threat!_ "So, you're telling me that, were he to survive your charming curse, amnesia would be – what, a possibility? A likelihood?"  
"I suppose," Rowena answered, brows raised. "But not in a ‘human who's had a head injury’ way."  
"How about false memories?" Crowley's brow furrowed in frustration. "Did you or did you not cast a spell upon Castiel that could result in him... believing himself to be somebody else?"  
Rowena opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut for a moment. "I believe I've answered. The Impetus Bestiarum would have no such side effect. I haven't touched him, with magic or otherwise.” Her eyes took on a greedy, curious glint. “Who does he believe he is?"  
Tapping his finger against his lips, Crowley hesitated. "How should I know?" He murmured. "Haven't set eyes on the disaster since you sicc'd him on me and left me for dead. _Guards_!" With a click of his fingers the doors heaved open. Crowley nodded towards Rowena, protesting and shaking her head. "Show my mother to one of the guest suites – the nice ones, that’s not a euphemism." His eyes narrowed. "But keep the chains on."  
  
Jimmy was sleeping. Watching the slow rise and fall of duvet, Crowley stroked a gentle thumb across the surface of the glass. It misted under his touch. _You know where he is. You don't need the spell any more. Break the mirror._ Crowley shook his head, frowning. _Don't think of this as spying. Think of it more like a demonic baby monitor. If Jimmy gets into trouble you'll know when to go to him._ Huh. Where the hell did _that_ come from? Crowley meant to turn away. Tried to. His fingertips felt stuck with static to the glass; this was virtually equivalent to kissing his posters goodnight. _Pathetic_. Another frown. He turned angrily from the image before him. Grabbed the dust cover from where it lay draped and flung it over the mirror's surface, before leaning against the wall to try to clear his mind and think. But Jimmy's image, his sleep-gentle face, remained stubbornly in his head.  
Crowley was deeper in denial than an Egyptian fisherman.  
The worst thing was, now he knew it. This thing that was going on, this... affair. He'd let pleasure get in the way of business. He never let that happen, and Crowley _liked_ pleasure. But this... If he just didn't examine it too closely, these... feelings... he could pretend it was all hunky-dory. He'd not felt like this since he'd been almost human, though, this distracting consuming itch beneath his skin, this constantly wandering attention. He hadn't felt this _strongly_... well. Ever. Crowley let out a long sigh, something like anxiety twisting in his belly. His leg jogged, pensive. Rowena was right. It was the mirror. It had to be the mirror, the spell draining him, leaving him vulnerable, letting him fall in - _ah_. It was all rot, wasn't it? Magic induced weakness. He'd thought, in his usually well-founded confidence, that he'd be strong enough to resist the lure of magic. He'd _thought_ , stupid sod he was, even though he knew how hard it had been to wean himself off the blood. Addictive personality. Now look what he'd got himself addicted to. The thought of it flashed through his mind - but not being obligingly choked with his own necktie while he pounded away a fallen seraph's remaining innocence. No, just... Jimmy. His eyes. His smile and his daft laugh and his hands graceful around a coffee mug. It was... It was _fine_. He'd told him he loved him. And he'd meant it. No biggie. People did that all the time. So what if Crowley was in love? Hopelessly, maddeningly, helplessly in love. With Castiel. Who was suffering from some bizarre magic-induced amnesia that apparently made him think he was a human. He'd faced and overcome worse, right? Crowley groaned and banged his head back against the wall: he was so beyond screwed.  
At least he had Rowena back where he could keep an eye on her, though. And her little trip back into Hell had revealed more than just the Desiderium Cordis’s dangerous effects. Now Crowley was pretty certain that it wasn’t her after all who was responsible for Castiel’s current mental state. But if not Rowena then – who else _was_ there? His palms drummed against the wall at his back, tapping out an unconscious rhythm as he mused. _Think_. Nobody else had the juice to control an angel. The archangels were dead or caged. Even Death was off the board. The Hardy Boys – Crowley’s drumming fingers came to an abrupt stop, a frown creasing his brow. Death. The Winchesters. He recalled one night, Squirrel explaining at tedious, drunken length the circumstances of Castiel’s previous mental breakdown. The guilt-riddled idiot had taken on Moose’s memories of the cage as a somewhat belated ‘sorry’ for breaking down the mental wall that Death had built for darling Samantha to screen his more colourful recollections. _Crumbled_ , Dean had said. Cas couldn’t rebuild Moose’s mental wall. But maybe it gave him ideas? Crowley pinched his bottom lip in thought, realisation crystallising. Maybe Cas built his own wall. Sectioned off his nightmares and built himself a nice, happy storybook family. He’d know to prepare. To secure an apartment – and to ward it – to find himself an identity and a job. To create a life to drop himself into the middle of. A life that didn’t involve even the slightest recollection of any of his suffering. That didn’t involve the slightest recollection of Crowley. Crowley’s eyes squeezed shut, briefly, his hands wringing into fists, slamming against the wall. Just once. He opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Of course the only being powerful enough to deceive Castiel was Cas himself. And Crowley could take his absence in Castiel’s new life as a slight, or he could take it as… “A second chance,” he murmured to himself. Clicking his fingers, Crowley disappeared.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a proposition for Jimmy.
> 
> And then there is more smut.

_Morning, angel. You busy?_

Jimmy was stretched out on the couch when he heard his phone buzz with a text (literally. His text tone was the sound of bees). He opened and smiled when he saw it was from Crowley.

**_I’m watching Doctor Who. I think I could pause for someone special though._ **

_Can we meet? Cafe opposite the library. There’s something I need to speak to you about._

Jimmy frowned, nervous about that. He paused his show and sat up, jostling Whiskers. He’d heard bad things about the statement ‘we need to talk’. It was never anything good in the shows and movies he watched. It always meant a break up. He didn’t want to break up.

**_Of course. Is something wrong?_ **

_Nothing wrong. Just have to ask you something and it needs to be in person._

Jimmy wasn’t sure how much that relaxed him, but he gently set Whiskers down, getting to his feet. He’d already dressed and showered, had breakfast.

**_I’ll be there in fifteen minutes._ **

_I’ll be waiting._

He pulled his shoes on, ran his fingers through Whiskers’s fur, and headed out the door. As promised, he walked into the cafe fifteen minutes later. When they spotted each other Crowley half rose to his feet, then, looking as though he changed his mind, sat down again. He gestured to the chair opposite him, giving Jimmy a tentative smile as he took the seat. They were next to the window, watery spring sunshine lighting up Crowley’s face, steam spiralling from the cup of black coffee cradled in his big hands. He looked fidgety, more nervous than Jimmy had ever seen him.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

“Fergus.” He tilted his head slightly, eyeing Crowley warily. He reached out to take the man’s hands. “What is it? You’re making me nervous.”

Crowley gave a quiet chuckle, avoiding his eyes. “Well that makes two of us. It’s nothing bad,” he added quickly. “At least I hope not.” What did that mean? “I don’t exactly have a precedent for this. You fancy a cuppa? The muffins here are to die for.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow, eyes searching Crowley’s face. He took a deep breath, trying to relax himself, thumb stroking over the back of Crowley’s hand. “Um...Alright.”

“I’ll just…” Crowley indicated towards the counter and half stood again, then sat. “Look, I’m just going to out with it.” Jimmy sighed in relief. He needed to know what was happening, didn’t want to go through motions of small talk and the like. Crowley stared at their linked hands, still not meeting Jimmy’s eye. “I realize we’ve not known each other for very long…”

“But we love each other,” Jimmy said quietly, “Don’t we?”

“Yeah...That’s why I...Well, I thought that maybe it’d be nice if you, you know. Moved in with me.” Crowley cleared his throat and appeared suddenly fascinated with the view out of the window onto the mundane Tuesday morning street.

Jimmy gasped softly. “Oh!” Well, that certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting. A smile slowly formed on his face and he squeezed Crowley’s hands, leaning forward to try and meet his eye. “I...I would love to.”

“Really?” Crowley wrinkled his nose, tone absolutely dubious. “Just like that?”

Jimmy tipped his head to the side curiously, giving a quiet little chuckle. “Is that not the answer you were hoping for?”

“God, yes.” Crowley met his gaze for the first time that day. “I’m just not used to getting what I want without a, well… bit of a struggle. Seems suspiciously easy.”

Jimmy made a soft noise at that, leaning across the table to kiss Crowley. “Yes, well. It helps that we both want the same thing.”

Crowley gave a lopsided smile. “I’m a nightmare to live with, you know. I work funny hours. I snore. I _really_ like Nancy Sinatra.”

“I work fairly odd hours too. I’ve slept next to you just fine, and I’m addicted to Netflix.”

“You’ll have to commute.” Crowley sounded a little dazed, his tone softened. “You _can_ drive, can’t you? I don’t even know if you can drive or not. This is insane. What are we doing?” His hands, resting on the nice chintzy tablecloth, gripped Jimmy’s hands tighter.

Jimmy laughed softly. “I can drive,” he murmured, “And I’m fine with commuting.” He squeezed Crowley’s hands gently. “Do you want this, Fergus?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, thought he still looked on the verge of either bolting or hyperventilating. “Do _you_ want this? Because, fair warning, I’m really very annoying. I’ll drive you doo-lally. I’d give it a month, tops, and I guarantee you’ll be absolutely sick of me.”

Jimmy rubbed his thumbs gently over the backs of Crowley’s hands, trying to relax him. “Mm...I’m not so sure about that,” he murmured, “I’m more worried about Juliet and Whiskers.”

“Bugger.” Crowley pulled a face. “I’d not even thought of that. He’ll eat her alive.”

Jimmy laughed in surprise. “ _He’ll_ eat _her_?” He shook his head fondly. “I don’t think he has quite that much of an appetite.”

“Are you kidding?” Crowley started to quietly laugh, his shoulders shaking with it, his face showing something like relief. “He’s a bruiser. My poor girl won’t know what to do with herself.”

Jimmy just smiled, pleased his lover was relaxing. “We’ll just have to watch them when they’re together until they get along. They’ll be okay.”

“How on earth do people do this with _kids_?” Crowley tipped his head to the side, studying Jimmy’s face, a strange, soft smile on his lips, his eyes unreadable. “ _Teenagers_? It’s bad enough…” He exhaled a long breath and leaned in a little. “This is a closely guarded state secret, but...I think I may have a few minor issues with commitment that you will have to help me with.”

“I think I may already be doing that.”

“Somehow I think you may be right.” Crowley’s eyes grew lazy, half lidded, that expression that Jimmy had grown to recognize as saying Crowley meant to kiss him. It was a look Jimmy loved, as kissing Crowley was one of his favorite things. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together gently. Crowley’s fingertips skimmed his jawline, lingering just a little at his pulse point. Jimmy pushed into the touch with a sigh of pleasure; and when Crowley pulled back he looked calmer and more flustered all at once. “So. This is happening, then. When? Are you busy this afternoon? We can hire a van. I’ll pay whatever’s left of your lease.”

Jimmy chuckled softly as he sat back. “You’re eager,” he murmured, though he certainly didn’t mind. “I’m not busy. We can get started.”

“Marvellous. My coffee’s gone cold.” Crowley pushed his chair back with a loud scrape on the tiled floor. The girl behind the counter glanced over at them. “He said yes!” Crowley called, already halfway to the door.

Jimmy got to his feet and hurried after him. He glanced curiously at the woman and took his lover’s hand as they reached the door. “Did you tell her what you were asking?”

“Absolutely not.”

The girl flashed them a grin, calling after them, “Oh wow, congratulations, guys. Summer wedding?”

“Wedding?” Crowley called cheerfully over his shoulder, “Lord no, love. We’re going to live in sin. Far more Bohemian.” The bell dinged as the door swung shut behind them.

Jimmy nudged Crowley gently, cheeks flushed. “You are terrible,” he accused, gripping his hand more tightly.

“And you’re moving in with me. You must be crazy.” Crowley shot him a dazzling smile.

“I must be,” Jimmy agreed, kissing his cheek.

“You want help packing? I bet we could fit a good few boxes in the Bentley. You can get used to driving it while we’re at it.”

“That would be wonderful.”

He spotted said Bentley and they headed for it, sliding in together. Jimmy leaned his head back against the seat, looking out the window as Crowley drove. So. They would be moving in together. This was an interesting turn of events, certainly not what he’d expected when he received that text this morning. It would be nice, falling asleep with Crowley, waking up with him every morning. He sighed happily, a little smile playing on his lips.

_Castiel, if you can hear me...Man, you gotta let me know. We’re burnin’ the candle at both ends tryin’ to find you and we’re running out of options. Look, if you wanna keep your distance that’s fine. I’ll deal with that; but you gotta let us know you’re okay._

Jimmy sat up straight, blinking. _Dean_. No, that didn’t make any sense. Castiel though. Where had he heard that name before? Crowley...Crowley had called him that when they first met. Perhaps someone he and Dean had known in the time they spent together. He looked over to Crowley, eyes moving over him for a moment before he spoke. His voice was quiet, unsure. “Fergus? Who...who is Castiel?”

“...What?” Crowley’s fingers tightened on the wheel, his gaze flicking to Jimmy and back to the road. He seemed...nervous. Why? “Where did that come from?”

“I’ve…” Jimmy paused, trying to think of the best way to say this. _I hear my brother’s voice on occasion_ didn’t sound like a good idea. “You called me Castiel when we first met. Dean’s mentioned him as well. Who is he?”

“Dean’s mentioned him?” Crowley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His voice was light. Too light. “All good things, I’m sure?”

So they did both know him. “Well...I suppose it’s more of, I’ve heard Dean talking to him,” he answered, “Why aren’t you telling me? Is he an ex? It’s fine, I’m just curious.”

Crowley cleared his throat quietly. He signalled and took a smooth right. “Nothing like that. You could say he was...a colleague of mine.”

“It didn’t end well.” Not a question, a statement. “You weren’t happy when you thought I was him.”

“No, I wasn’t.” One hand left the wheel and slid over to rest on Jimmy’s knee, palm up in a silent request. Jimmy took the hand, squeezing it gently and rubbing his thumb over the back as Crowley continued to speak. “And you’re quite correct. It didn’t end well; but the past is the past.” However practiced he was at schooling his voice to pleasant neutrality though, Jimmy knew him well enough to detect a hint of unease.

“Do I look like him?”

“Mm…” Crowley flashed Jimmy a sideways glance and the little smile that lit his face looked genuine. “From a distance. In poor lighting.” He squeezed Jimmy’s hand back. “You’re far better looking.”

Jimmy smiled at that, ducking his head. “Thank you,” he said quietly, bringing his hand to his lips and kissing it softly. From the corner of his eye he saw Crowley smile and exhale a long, slow breath. Something that looked akin to relief.

 

Even with all of the furniture still in place the apartment looked strangely huge without the clutter of Jimmy’s life occupying it. By the way Whiskers was hiding under the bed and occasionally meowing in distress, he didn’t like it very much.

Crowley set a box of magazines heavily on the bed, cocking a brow. “We’re running out of boxes. Do you have any suitcases?” Jimmy nodded and pulled one from his closet, opening it up to start taking clothing from the dresser.

The rest of the ride home had been relatively quiet with Jimmy thinking over the things Crowley had said about Castiel. It was still odd, that he’d heard his brother in his head, talking to his boyfriend’s ex-colleague. Certainly that was not normal. Then again, the way he saw Crowley and the fact that some people seemed to have black eyes wasn’t all that normal either. He chalked it up to being mildly crazy and began packing as Crowley made a phone call to get a van when they got back.

In the second drawer of his dresser Jimmy found his panties and pulled them out, flushing as he remembered the conversation they’d had about them. He bit his lip briefly and turned to show his lover. “Do you like them?”

“What?” The pile of towels Crowley was carrying slid toward the floor as he glanced up and he fumbled to catch them nearly dropping them in the process. “Very nice, darling. Very nice indeed. Blue is certainly your color.”

Though his voice was its customary purr for this sort of situation, there was a bit of fluster there that Jimmy did not miss. It filled him with confidence. He took a couple steps forward, pressing in against Crowley, hands sliding up his chest as he kept the panties between two fingers. “Do you think?” he asked, voice low, “Are you picturing me in them?”

It was impressive, the way a man three inches shorter could crowd Jimmy. Crowley tossed the stack of towels on the bed, leaning in close. “It’s a terribly sad thing, kitten, but my imagination is woefully lacking at times. Perhaps I need a visual aid.”

Just like that, all of Jimmy’s bravado was gone. He swallowed hard, nodding his head once, his breath shallow. “That sounds wise.”

The big hands that came to rest ever so lightly on his hips were warm. Breath ghosted over his neck. “I think...you should put them on now, and wear them for the rest of the day. As a gesture of good faith for being such a terrible tease.”

Jimmy swallowed hard, eyes fluttering closed. Oh... _Oh_. He really liked that idea. “I can do that,” he breathed, wetting his lips.

Crowley nodded reasonably, stepping back. After a moment he gave an impatient gesture with his hand. “Well. Put them on.” His voice and gaze held both a dare and command. Jimmy hadn’t expected to be putting them on in front of Crowley, to have him see now; but when he was told like that? How could he resist? He slipped his jeans and briefs down, half hard, and slowly pulled the panties on after.

The look Crowley gave him had weight, heat. Hands slipped into the pockets of his slacks as he rocked back onto his heels, sucking his lower lip. Jimmy was given the distinct impression that he was being assessed. It made him both nervous and aroused. “Very satisfactory, pet.” If it weren’t for the roughness in his voice Jimmy might have felt anxious, like he wasn’t pleasing his lover. As it was, he could tell Crowley was enjoying this. “Jeans back on, then.”

Jimmy bent over further than necessary to scoop his discarded clothing, giving Crowley a perfect view of his ass. He walked to the hamper and tossed his briefs in before pulling his jeans back on. If he had to wear these all day Crowley deserved some teasing.

Reaching out, Crowley hooked one finger in the waistband of Jimmy’s jeans, pulling him in close. His other hand palmed the stiffening length trapped in denim. He leaned up and captured him in a rough kiss, tongue exploring and possessive. Jimmy moaned, fingers fisting in Crowley’s hair as he kissed back eagerly, pushing into the hand on his crotch. Just as suddenly Crowley pulled away, leaving them both breathing heavily. Jimmy whined, cock fully hard, staring at Crowley with lust blown eyes.

Crowley turned away, disinterest clearly feigned, but well enough to drive Jimmy mad. “Shall I have Dave bring the van around? You don’t mind riding in the cab with him, right? It’s just that the Bentley’s a bit tricky to handle when it’s loaded with boxes.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. First Crowley frustrated him and now he was asking him to ride in the car with a stranger while he had an obvious erection? “The rest of my clothes…”

Crowley raised a brow at that, expression innocent, like he didn’t know what he was doing. The man was cruel. He pulled out an armful of shirts and sweaters on hangers. Then his expression turned… foggy? “I’ve never seen you wear this one, angel.”

Reaching out, Jimmy touched the tan trench coat. An odd sense of deja vu overwhelmed him. “No, I don’t wear it very often,” he said absently. When _was_ the last time he’d worn it? Flashes of memories, like dreams, filled his mind. That kind that you can’t quite understand, certainly couldn’t explain.

“Not really your style,” Crowley commented, patting the pockets. He pulled something out: a silver handle with a long blade. The sense of deja vu increased, making him uneasy. Crowley’s brows lowered into a frown as he held the handle with two fingers, like it might burn. “Jimmy?”

“I...I don’t know where that came from,” he said, shifting anxiously.

It caught the light as Crowley turned it over in his hands, giving a low whistle. As he spun it experimentally it flashed. “This is some serious hardware to come by accidentally, sweetheart.”

Jimmy looked away, growing more uneasy. How was he supposed to convince Crowley he really didn’t know where it came from? A sharp-looking blade just appeared in a coat kept in the back of his closet? It sounded insane, even to him. “I see that,” he said quietly. A light touch on his arm startled him. He looked to see Crowley trying to meet his eye.

“You alright, angel?”

“It’s...odd,” he said tentatively, “It makes me nervous. Where did it come from? Why can’t I remember?”

For the first time during this conversation Crowley looked unsettled. He reached out to stroke Jimmy’s arm, a clumsy attempt at comfort, though it did relax him minutely. “We all turn up rubbish we forgot we owned during a move. Right?” His voice sounded strange. “I can get rid of it, if it bothers you.”

“This seems more than rubbish.” Jimmy reached out to touch the blade with the tips of his fingers and recoiled quickly. It didn’t physically burn, but there was something mental that bothered him. “Please.”

The blade disappeared into Crowley’s jacket and he leaned forward to kiss Jimmy’s forehead, making his eyes flutter closed. “Problem solved.”

Jimmy reached out, grasping the other man’s arm with relief. “Thank you.”

“Although we still haven’t solved the problem of your book collection. I hope you’re good at Tetris. The van is only a four wheeler.” Crowley gave a tentative smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood. It worked. Jimmy let out a soft laugh and kissed him gently.

“I happen to love Tetris.”

“Yet another thing we have in common.” Crowley’s eyes were growing lazy again, hands drifting to the small of his back. His fingers slid under Jimmy’s shirt, toying with the lace at his waistband. A soft noise of pleasure escaped the other man’s lips. “If you keep distracting me, angel, we’ll never get you moved.”

Jimmy let out another little laugh, breathless this time. “I only kissed you. You’re the distracting one.”

“You’re the one with the matinee idol face and the,” Crowley lowered his voice, a low buzz in his ear, “Pretty little frilly knickers under your keks.” Jimmy shivered. Then Crowley was turning and he was whimpering. “Was that the door? I swear I heard the door.” The man barely contained his smirk.

“You are cruel,” Jimmy accused, heading to the living room the grab his books.

“ _I’m_ cruel?” Crowley had a full on grin now as he walked passed Jimmy, boxes stacked in his arms. “You don’t have to look at you. How long do you think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you knowing that…” He looked pointedly at Jimmy’s crotch.

“You don’t have to look at _you_ ,” Jimmy retorted, “Or feel those hands while wearing these.” He licked his lips. “They feel so good and all I can think about is you touching me in them.”

Crowley hefted the boxes he was carrying with an inelegant and rather strangled sounding grunt. A dusty trail was left on his suit jacket. So impractical for moving, but that was Crowley. “That makes two of us on that particular train of thought…” Crowley’s eyes went glazed before he shook his head smartly and toed the door open. “Sure you’ll be alright with Dave?”

Jimmy brushed the mark off Crowley’s jacket with ease, as if it had never been there. He lifted his own boxes, using his shoulder to push the open further. “I’ll be fine.”

“Shouldn’t be more than three trips. Quicker we get it done, quicker we…” The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

Jimmy licked his lips at the implication and nodded. He gently pushed Crowley aside and hurried down the stairs, eager to be done.

 

To say Jimmy was relieved when he realized that Crowley had been joking about him having to ride with a stranger was an understatement. As a bartender it would be expected that he was good with people, but in all reality, outside of work they made him anxious. His eyes widened when Crowley handed him the keys to the van.

“I’m driving? What about Dave?”

Crowley had barked out a laugh. “I was teasing, love.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?!”

The move did in fact take three trips, with Jimmy getting used to driving the Bentley on the rides back to his apartment. In between loading and unloading boxes there was a lot of touching, kissing, teasing. It was torturous.

It was almost five when Crowley finally dropped the keys with a shifty-looking teen apparently from the company. The day was already waning and Crowley’s hand rested on Jimmy’s hip for the thousandth time that day, the touch almost too light to register. Almost. “Worked up an appetite yet? I think we should treat ourselves and go to dinner.”  

Jimmy made a soft noise. He didn’t want to go to dinner. He wanted Crowley to fuck him right there, right now, but he also didn’t want to be the first to give in. Interesting. Apparently today had made him competitive. He ran his hand over Crowley’s arm, pressed into his side, kissed at his jaw. “That sounds nice.”

“Any preferences? You know the city as well as I do.” Something sparked in his eyes. “We could always swing by the bar.”

Jimmy chuckled, pulling away and taking Crowley’s hand. “You just want to show off,” he accused. Not that he minded.

Crowley glanced sideways at him as they walked. “Guilty as charged. Can you blame me?”

Jimmy smiled at that. “Mm...No. I want to show you off too.”

“That’s settled then. We’ll swing by and pick up the car, then grace your place of employment with an outrageous public display of affection over a 16-inch pizza.”

Jimmy laughed softly. “Sounds wonderful.”

 

Crowley’s smirk was permanently in place as they strode into the bar, eyes immediately moving to them. The music did a strange thing, switching to 60s Motown and rock n’ roll, blasting out Mony Mony as Crowley headed for the bar. Jimmy smiled at a few people as he found them a booth and a moment later Crowley was walking back with a drink in each hand. He slid in next to Jimmy, a hand immediately resting on his knee. Jimmy’s arm hooked around his as he rested his head on the man’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“For what? The drink?” Crowley drew circles in the denim of Jimmy’s jeans, fingers trailing further up his thigh, making him shiver and shift a bit.

“Of course,” he murmured, kissing Crowley’s jaw before taking a sip of said drink.

Crowley leaned his head closer, almost on Jimmy’s shoulder. His voice was a murmur in his ear. “You are, as ever, more than welcome. Mmm…” He sounded far away as his fingertips trailed hazardously close to the crease of Jimmy’s thigh. The touch brought a soft noise from the man’s lips as his legs spread just so. “I think that’s our food. Colleague of yours?”

Jimmy looked up as a man walked over with their pizza. “Thank you, David,” he said and the man nodded before heading off.

“New boy?” Crowley bumped his nose against Jimmy’s ear, annoying as a puppy. Jimmy loved it. “I hope he’s bent as a nine bob note.”

Jimmy turned his head to look at his lover, confused by the statement. “You hope he’s gay? Why?”

“So he can want you and not have you, sweetheart.” Crowley detached a slice of pizza, curling a stray string of cheese around his finger in an almost graceful gesture. His voice was conversational, but his eyes were dark. “Because you’re all mine.”

Jimmy pressed closer as he grabbed his own slice, oddly enjoying the possessiveness. “Mmm...Yes I am.”

Crowley didn’t respond, but that pleased smile was on his face, all self-satisfied and smug. He ate in silence, somehow neat and fastidious about even a loaded pizza slice. He did everything that way (well, _almost_ everything).

Meanwhile Jimmy ate his pizza like a normal person, bits dropping onto his plate, sauce getting on his lips only be licked off moments later. He rested his hand on Crowley’s thigh, kneading gently.

When they were finished Crowley wiped fingers with a napkin, which he then threw with purposeful aim onto the floor beside the booth. “Oops. Clumsy me. Would you be a dear and pick that up?”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. Well. _That_ was obvious, but if Crowley _wanted_ to be teased… He leaned forward, bending more than was necessary. He could feel the heat of Crowley’s gaze upon him. The man made an appreciative noise, just barely audible over the music. Jimmy sat back upright, tossed the napkin and gave Crowley a look before settling back into his side, hand high on his thigh and kneading.

A hand slid around his waist, fingers dipping under his shirt to play with the frill just barely poking out of his jeans. Jimmy sighed in pleasure, nibbling at Crowley’s neck.

“I’m going to nip out for a smoke. You coming?”

“Of course,” Jimmy replied easily, getting to his feet.

When Crowley got up Jimmy noted (with no small amount of pride) that he had to adjust himself. Outside it was already dark, the sky stained midnight blue by light pollution. No stars. Crowley led him not to the usual smoking spot, but to the side of the building, draped in shadow. An orange flame sparked as he lit his cigarette. Jimmy pressed against him, head dipped to rest on his shoulder. Lips brushed against his neck, nose gently nuzzling along his skin.

Crowley leaned his head back, blowing a steady plume of fragrant smoke, grey against the night. “You know,” he said conversationally, “You’ve had me at half-mast since you put those things on.”

A soft noise, close to a moan, escaped Jimmy’s lips. “You’re not the only one.”

“I’m not sure that I can wait until we get home.” Jimmy felt Crowley’s breath smoke against his neck as a finger hooked in his belt loop, tugging him in closer. He gasped softly, slotting a leg between Crowley’s, thigh pressed to his crotch.

“I’m not sure I can either,” he breathed. Even if they left now, it was such a long drive. It would be torturous.

Crowley flicked his filter away, sending sparks bouncing across the cement. The noise from the bar was distant, muted. Nobody was in the parking lot but them, only three cars aside from the Bentley on this early Tuesday evening. He turned back, lips pressed to the spot just behind Jimmy’s ear. “I could have you right here, against this wall, where anyone could see us, and I don’t think you’d even object.”

Jimmy shuddered at that, biting his lip. Crowley was right, absolutely right. He couldn’t imagine objecting to getting fucked right now. He rubbed his thigh against him, kissing his clothed shoulder. “As long as you let me keep my panties on,” he whispered.

That red light, flaring in Crowley’s eyes. A hand, forceful at the back of Jimmy’s neck, angling him for a kiss, all desperate tongue and scrape of teeth, taste of smoke and spice. Jimmy moaned into it, fingers fisting in Crowley’s hair, tugging gently. When the kiss broke he was left panting softly. Crowley’s voice had that cadence he got when he was ruffled, trying to pretend cool. Rough with lust. “Tempting though that is…” His hand caught hold of Jimmy’s, leading him across the deserted lot.

“Don’t make me wait until we get home,” Jimmy all but whined, “I can’t, Fergus.”

“I like it when you’re demanding, kitten.” The amusement in his tone was maddening, even as he fumbled with his keys to unlock the car. He didn’t get into the driver’s seat though, instead opening the back door and slipping in. Crowley rested a hand against the door, preventing Jimmy from following him. “Wait.” His voice was a low growl, making the other man shudder. “Shoes off first. Then your jeans.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened slightly and he glanced around, squirming a little bit. “Right here?” There _was_ no one in the parking lot, but what if someone came out and saw him in just his t-shirt and panties?

Crowley ran his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth, leaned back with a gentle creak against the leather upholstery, crossing his arms. One foot braced itself on the door. “Right here.”

Jimmy bit his lip, glancing around again, nervous. He pulled his shoes off and set them on the footboard before making quick work of his jeans. He threw them in and climbed into the car quickly, desperate for the safety of it. Crowley’s smile spread, pleased and slow, watching the display. When Jimmy dove into the car he didn’t move, but as he tried to climb over him, Crowley gripped his hips, keeping him there, straddling Crowley’s thighs in the close confines of the back seat. He slammed the door closed. Between the dark of the evening and the blacked-out windows of the Bentley, they were cocooned in sudden darkness, the sound of their breathing loud.

Jimmy shuddered, grinding down against Crowley almost immediately. His cock was straining in his panties by this point. It was exciting. The back of a car, at his place of work. He leaned down to kiss Crowley eagerly. “Touch me.”

“Patience, angel.” The way Crowley’s hips lifted, his cock a rigid line in his suit pants, belied his smug, teasing tone. He caught a wrist in each hand, leaning back to survey the view. Letting go of one wrist, fingers ghosted across the frothy white frills barely covering Jimmy’s cock. The free hand immediately went to Crowley’s chest, fingers fisting in his shirt. “The bows are a nice touch. Very… sweet. Innocent. I’d imagine their wearer to be the type of girl who’d go to slumber parties at college.” He tilted his head, breath warm against Jimmy’s lips. “Not the sort of girl who’d let boys finger her in parked cars.” The back of his index finger ran, almost too gently, along the length of Jimmy’s cock.

Jimmy whimpered softly, fingers digging gently into Crowley’s chest. His breath shook and he squirmed. “She might if the boy was very handsome and promised not to tell anyone,” he whispered.

“But what if somebody sees us,” Crowley whispered in his ear. The heel of his palm circled, just enough pressure against the head of Jimmy’s cock. He moaned, pushing into the touch with a soft gasp, hand running slowly up Crowley’s chest.

“We’ll just have to hope they don’t.”

“Mmm.” Jimmy felt that purr against his throat and swallowed hard, absolutely loving it. “I think you like it. I think you like the risk, don’t you, pet?” He released Jimmy’s other wrist, broad hands sliding to cup his ass, fingertips teasing beneath the elastic of the panties.

“Yes,” he breathed. It was true. He liked it. He liked it so much. A part of him hoped someone would see.

“Well, didn’t I just strike gold when I found you, treasure?” Jimmy made a soft noise, the words making him feel warm. Crowley’s lips skimmed his throat, butterflying kisses. Fingers hooked in elastic, pulling his panties to one side, brushing against the tight pucker of his hole.

Jimmy gasped softly and pushed his ass back, arching slightly. “Please,” he whimpered.

“Touch me right and I might think about it.” Crowley’s fingers circled, teasing, his other hand rubbing Jimmy’s dick through the thin material.

Jimmy made a pleading noise and slid his hand down, squeezing Crowley through his slacks before he began to rub him firmly. “Like that?” His voice was shy as he looked up through his lashes.

The lift of Crowley’s hips and the groan that escaped his throat was all the answer he needed. Fishing in his jacket’s inside pocket, Crowley produced something: a little foil packet caught the light of the streetlight outside the car. “A boy-scout is always prepared.” He smirked as Jimmy gasped and moaned when he felt the cold touch of lubricant.

Jimmy moaned and palmed Crowley firmly as he kissed at his neck, panting. “That’s inappropriate,” he mumbled, perfectly unconcerned.

“Dyb, dyb, dyb, darling,” Crowley gasped against his hair. Two fingers thrust inside Jimmy, slick and deep, as he pushed urgently into the hand on his crotch. “Now for the love of all that is sacred, will you get into my pants?” Jimmy squeezed his cock as he pushed back onto the fingers with a loud moan, nodding quickly. Yes. He needed to touch him. Fingers fumbled and managed to get his slacks undone before he shoved his hand inside. Crowley arched sharply into his palm, hissing breath in through clenched teeth. One palm braced warmly against Jimmy’s hip. His other fingers scissored, desire making him rougher. The car rocked gently, dark windows starting to fog. Crowley’s tongue traced a path up Jimmy’s throat, across the bob of his Adam’s apple, sucking at the pulse gently. “I want you on my cock, angel. I’m going to pull your frilly knickers to the side and you’re going to ride me until the suspension goes.”

Jimmy groaned and nodded, eager to do just that. Just like his fantasy, when he’d worn them and touched himself. Though he hadn’t anticipated this happening in a car. “Hurry.”

“Easy…” Strong hands on his hips positioned him carefully. The familiar yet still new sensation of delicious, blunt intrusion had Jimmy panting. The constriction of fabric, pulled tight to the side. Crowley threw his head back against the seat and moaned, loud, as Jimmy slid down onto his cock, fingers digging into his chest, panting. “Oh...Oh fuck,” Jimmy moaned, grinding down against him.

Hips circling, hands cradling Jimmy’s thighs: lifting and dropping him, Jimmy slid up and down on Crowley’s cock, hard, grinding. He kissed him desperately, fingers fisting in his hair. “Fuck,” he moaned against his lips, “Fergus. Please.”

“Yes...Closer…” The words fragmented to incoherence as Crowley deepened the kiss, hips bucking. Freeing Jimmy’s dick from its frills he started to stroke in earnest.

“Fuck,” Jimmy cried out loudly, rocking desperately with his lover. “Oh fuck. Yes. Please. Harder!”

A chest-deep growl and Crowley withdrew just long enough to manoeuvre them only a little awkwardly around. Jimmy’s back pressed along the leather seat, legs draped over Crowley’s shoulders, Crowley slammed into him hard enough to rock the car. Jimmy’s hands pushed under Crowley’s shirt as he moved his hips the best he could. Fingers dug into his back, nails clawed at his skin. “Fuuuuck!” Jimmy threw his head back as he came. And suddenly car alarms began to wail - not just the ones in the lot, ones down the block as well. He clenched tight on Crowley’s cock, too focused to think much of the noise.

“Ah-fuuu-” Crowley gasped into the crook of Jimmy’s neck, whole body tensing as release shuddered through him. His hips slowed, stilled, lazy through the afterglow, but his arms gathered Jimmy closer, heedless of the mess they’d made. Arms wrapped around him in return, Jimmy’s chest heaving. His shoulders shook. After a moment Jimmy realized Crowley was laughing. Those alarms were frustrating. He wished they would stop. Just like that, they did.

“What are you laughing for?”

Crowley pressed a kiss to his frowning forehead. Another, gentler and more lingering, to his mouth. “Well, if nobody noticed what we were doing before, they probably have now.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. Oh... _Oh._ People probably came out when they heard their car alarms. “Will we get in trouble?”

Crowley only laughed harder and had to cover his mouth for a moment like he felt guilty for finding the situation so hilarious. “I’m sorry, love. It’s alright. I promise. Tinted windows.” Gently he eased out from between Jimmy’s legs, righting himself on the seat. Looking down at the mess on his suit jacket, he pulled a face. “Don’t think we did the upholstery much good though.” The corner of his mouth twitched and he started to laugh again. “Come here. I require a cuddle.”

Jimmy laughed softly as well and playfully swatted Crowley’s chest. “We’ll clean it.” He sat up and slipped in against man’s side. “That was wonderful.”

“Of course it was. I’m a fantastic lay.” Amusement still sparkled in Crowley’s eyes.

Jimmy gave a little huff at that. “Romantic,” he commented, stroking Crowley’s chest.

“You’re not bad either, angel,” Crowley conceded, making a very poor attempt at keeping a straight face. He ran a finger around the waistband of the panties Jimmy was still wearing. “You’ll have to dress up for me more often if this is where it leads.”

Jimmy licked his lips, snuggling closer. “Mm...Agreed,” he murmured, “Should get more of these though. A variety would be nice.”

“I’ll surprise you.” Crowley nosed into his hair, kissed the top of his head. “Housewarming presents. Oh, bollocks.”

Jimmy smiled at the idea, then lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Whiskers. We need to pick up the cat.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “It’s not as if we’re far. It would be good to get him soon though. He’s probably stressed.”

“Here.” Fumbling in the foot-well, Crowley passed him his jeans. “I’ll drive us over while you…” He smirked, like he couldn’t help it, gaze raking Jimmy’s dishevelled clothes, mussed hair, “Get straightened out.” He slipped out of the car, slammed the door, only to open it again, leaning in to give Jimmy another quick kiss (much to his satisfaction) before he closed the door again and got in the driver’s seat.

Jimmy chuckled softly as he pulled on his jeans and boots. “Do you have napkins?”

The engine started with a subdued roar. “Nope. Here.” A hand reached backwards, offering a cotton handkerchief, a ‘C’ embroidered in one corner. Jimmy wiped the leather down and with one swipe it was as if it had never been soiled. Smiling in satisfaction he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. Soon, he’d be home. His new home with Crowley.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy doesn't know who he is, and what power he possesses and it's becoming dangerous - how can Crowley protect them both... if protecting is what he's doing?
> 
> And also, more boning, because they can't help themselves.

"I trust the room's to your liking?"  
Looking up at Crowley from her seat on the bed as he sauntered into the room, Rowena rolled her eyes. "A gilded cage is still a cage."  
"And raucous old crows should be grateful they don't get shot on sight."  
Rowena sniffed, averting her eyes. "Is that any way to talk to the one who gave you life?"  
"Yes, thank you _mummy_ , for that one way ticket to misery and hardship."  
"Och, quit your bellyaching, Fergus. You're no doing so bad for yourself now."  
No matter how many times she said it, it always managed to pinch a nerve. Crowley sighed, his protest now more habit than hope. "The name, mother, is Crowley. And no. No I'm not." The corner of his mouth ticked up just a smidge at that last sentence, remembering the previous evening. Precarious as his position was, at that moment he really _wasn’t_ doing badly at all. It wasn’t lost on Rowena, who glared unconcealed daggers at him.  
"So. To what do I owe the pleasure of a royal visit? I'm pretty sure you're not just checking if the mini bar’s stocked to my liking."  
"You do me a disservice.” His voice was a smug purr. “It's a very good mini bar."  
"The point?"  
"Castiel."  
A little snort of laughter: unwelcome. "Always the angel. Anyone would think you have a wee crush on him."  
"Well, he is a dreamboat." The injected sarcasm in Crowley's tone was sharp: hide it in plain sight. "And a powerful one at that."  
"Ah. That's what you're seeking. Your Heart's Desire. And here's me thinking you wanted to wipe that righteous stain off the map."  
"Mmm. Terrible waste, that'd be, don't you think?"  
"Well. He does take direction rather beautifully."  
Crowley closed his eyes, just for a second. "I noticed. About that..."  
"No hard feelings, eh, _son_."  
His voice came out even harder than he intended. "I'll consider sparing your poxy life if you teach me how you did it."  
"Ohhhhhh. There's your cards on the table. You want a pet angel, do you?"  
_More than that, oh much more._ "I want a super soldier in my employ. I want to wield power over the feathered pests. You'll teach me." His tone said it wasn’t a question. Rowena cocked her head, eyes shrewd.  
"What's in it for me?"  
"How about - I don't kill you horribly?" She was peering at him. _Into_ him. He lifted his chin and forced himself to hold her gaze. The smile that broke across her pretty face was not entirely pleasant.  
"You've found him. You're watching him in the mirror!"  
Crowley sucked on his teeth. "Monitoring. Surveillance. What of it?"  
"And he's under some form of enchantment and you're wanting to find out what." Crowley sighed. Too close to the truth, but what could she do under lock and key? "I can sense it in you. The weakness. It's - _ohhhh_!"  
"What?" The irritation he felt at her delighted smirk was all too plain to hear.  
"Super soldier, is that it? Or perhaps... King's concubine?"  
"Are you capable of dragging your mind from the gutter for one moment?"  
"I'm right, aren't I?” Far, far too gleeful. “A mother always knows, Fergus. My son, a friend of Dorothy - och I feel so modern!"  
"Are you quite finished?"  
"For now."  
His palm itched to slap that look off her face. Maybe another day. "Information. I want every scrap of knowledge you have on controlling angels, right up the ranks. Anything powerful enough, anything at all, to alter an angelic consciousness - even if you've not got the clout to cast it, even if only the angels themselves could master it. I want everything, clear?"  
"Crystal."  
"And then - and only then - perhaps we can discuss terms."  
  
Crowley left the state guest apartments with his guts tied in uneasy knots. Having Rowena safely stowed away and hopefully working on an answer to just what Cas had whammied himself with was certainly a portion of weight off his mind - in fact, the only remaining loose cannon at this point was Amara, not counting the Brothers Winchester who were decidedly conspicuous in their silence. No matter. Crowley had too many other things on his mind.  
Mainly, Castiel. _Jimmy_.

  
Inviting him to move into his topside bolt-hole was the best and worst decision Crowley had ever made. Sure, his odd hours of absence could now be questioned, but - Jimmy didn't. He just blithely accepted, trusting and cheerful and - _ugh_. Crowley caught himself worrying a thumbnail between his teeth: a recent habit that seemingly came from nowhere and really played havoc with his manicure. It was... _nice_ , having him around. Succumbing to the unnecessary indulgence of sleep, wrapped up in a delicious warm body. Cooking for him. Watching television with a defused angel's feet in his lap and Juliet snoring at his own feet. A lovely, distracting illusion of domesticity. But it was an illusion, wasn't it? Because Castiel was anything but defused and Crowley was all too aware that could cause deadly problems.  
Having an angel, publicly, in the Biblical sense, in the back of his car was a memory that would keep Crowley toasty on many a long, dreary night. But however amusing at the time he'd found the symphony of car alarms that Jimmy had inadvertently triggered in his (Crowley couldn't help a little smile) blissful abandon, now it was causing him headaches. Jimmy couldn't control his power. Because Jimmy was unaware of his power. A few blown lightbulbs when he got upset or Crowley expertly deep-throated him to gasping completion was one thing, but the potential for real danger couldn't be ignored. At the very least, it made him visible. Trackable. And who knew what malicious, heavenly eyes were watching out for him? Crowley's mansion was warded up the jacksie against everything under the sun and otherwise, but he couldn't keep Jimmy under lock and key - well, he _could_ ; he arched an eyebrow at the image _that_ presented - but he realised with a pang that he didn't want to. A caged bird was one thing, but a free bird that came back by choice... Bloody hell, he was getting sentimental. No. Jimmy thought himself human, and if he _was_ human he'd be, ironically, safer. Invisible. Powerless, true, but what use anyway were powers he was unaware of and didn't know how to use? Jimmy didn't _want_ to remember. He'd already shown his discomfort at the sight of his own blade. At the name 'Castiel'. He never seemed upset at Juliet's appearance or his glimpses of Crowley's ( _beautiful_ , he insisted, _beautiful_ ) true face, but he did seem confused by them. Well. Suppressing his power wouldn't affect his celestial sight, but it would avoid any little... accidents. But how to suppress celestial power of that magnitude? A memory crowded Crowley's consciousness. A leather collar, weighing heavier around his neck than its actual weight should have allowed. The pinch of etched wards. His own humiliating neutering at the hands of hunters. This though... not neutering. Protection. Choice. Crowley chewed at a sharp edge of thumbnail. Tasted blood.  
  
It was a beautiful thing.  
A slim, elegant cuff of silver, plain and understated: the type of commitment jewellery for gentlemen who didn't favour the attention rings attracted. Set in the middle of a circle of unholy fire, it glowed. Crowley hated the shake in his voice as he recited the incantation. It felt too much like guilt, although really, his motives on this occasion were at least _mostly_ pure: it was the simplest way he could think of to keep the angel safe, consent issues aside.  
Around the circle of the bracelet, sigils lit, glowed red. The air above the altar throbbed with silent, awful music that set every hair on Crowley's vessel standing. Then just as suddenly the static buzz dispersed. Crowley shivered. The burning red script on the surface of the metal cooled to invisibility, neutralising power sealed inside. Picking it up, Crowley looked at it: so innocuous, so significant; he stowed it carefully in an inside pocket.  
  
It had taken a while to get into the habit of not teleporting into the house whenever he required, but Crowley was getting used to it. Keeping up appearances. He parked carelessly out front and let himself in, wiping his feet on the mat and tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. Shouting, "Honey. I'm home." In an exaggerated American sitcom voice.  
"In the living room!" Jimmy called. He was sprawled out on the couch, Juliet by his feet with Whiskers lying on top of her, cleaning her ear. He paused the show he'd been watching and looked up as Crowley entered, smiling brightly.  
"Hello, you." Crowley leaned down over the back of the couch for a welcome-home kiss. "What you watching?"  
Jimmy made a pleased noise as he kissed back, reaching up to stroke Crowley's cheek. "I finished Doctor Who, so I've started Once Upon A Time."  
"All the classics." Crowley's mouth twitched up in a lopsided smile, fondness entirely unfeigned. "Remind me. You're not in work tonight are you?" He lifted Jimmy's feet off the couch, replaced them on his lap as he sat down.  
Jimmy looked at him, eyes filled with affection as he stretched, socked foot rubbing his thigh. "No, I'm not," he confirmed, reaching out for Crowley's hand, "What would you like to do?"  
"No particular plans," Crowley laced their fingers together. "I've had rather a shocker if I'm honest. Not moving from this couch sounds like a marvellous plan. I've everything I need," his other hand traced the elegant arch of one foot: odd socks; Crowley's chest twinged, strangely. "Right here."  
Jimmy's smile was soft as he ran his fingers along Crowley's arm. "That's fine with me," he murmured, "Though we may need to eat at some point."  
"Takeout?"   
"Takeout sounds nice," Jimmy agreed, watching as Whiskers' tail twitched when the ear he was trying to clean moved.  
Crowley toed off his shoes. When he kicked them across the hearthrug Juliet raised her head, then lowered it again with a lazy sigh. He felt around with his feet for his slippers. "I should teach you to fetch for me," he addressed the hound. "Did you see that? She rolled her eyes at me. I get no respect in this house."  
Jimmy laughed softly, taking Crowley's hand and kissing his knuckles. "I respect you," he purred.  
"Mmmm, is that what you call it? Crowley raised an eyebrow.   
Jimmy's lips twitched at the response. "It's one word for it," he murmured lowly.  
That expression on that angelic face would never, ever get old. From the floor in front of the couch came an exasperated huff. Crowley couldn't hold in a laugh. "I'll send her to answer the door. Give the pizza boy the thrill of his evening." He wormed his phone out of his pants pocket. "What's your fancy, pet? Thai? Italian?"  
"The money would be soaked. That won't work," Jimmy said reasonably, "Italian sounds nice. Alfredo? Does any place deliver out here?"  
Crowley bit back another laugh at that solemn straight face. "They do if we pay them to." He pulled up the website, keyed in the order. "I hope they have satnav though. So." Settling back against the overstuffed cushions, he let out a breath that felt dangerously close to contented, and nodded at the screen. "Fill me in, here. Who's the blonde piece, and please tell me he's not what passes for handsome in a leading man these days?"  
Jimmy gave a little hum in response to that. He smiled at the question. "I have no idea what you mean. You're the only handsome leading man," he teased, "But no. Well, yes. But our leading character is a female. He's a major character."  
"You'll have to update me as we watch." Crowley shifted closer, pulling Jimmy further into his lap and sliding sideways until he'd managed to insinuate himself alongside him, both of them curled up along the length of the chesterfield. He watched Jimmy, watching the screen, his face by turns animated and rapt, as he gave his running commentary. Jimmy ran fingers along his arm around he explained what was going on, who characters were, why certain things were happening. Sometimes he inserted his own opinions and theories. After a little bit he quieted, snuggling back closer to Crowley, kissing and nuzzling his hand.

  
Crowley gathered him closer to his chest. Pressed his nose into his hair, breathing in that familiar angelic nothing-scent, the fragrance of Old Spice that he'd not yet been successful in bribing, nagging or tricking him out of using. Crowley smiled against the tickle of dark hair. His rebel angel. "I think our dinner's got lost, love. Here. Sit up." Why did he feel nervous again? "I was going to wait til later, but..."  
Jimmy made a soft noise when he was made to sit up. He seemed to refuse going far, settling in Crowley's lap, an arm around his shoulder. He tipped his head to the side, expression curious. "What is it, love?"  
Oh, but that always made him smile. _He’s picked that expression up from you_ the voice in Crowley’s head said. "I have something for you. A pressie." Reaching inside his jacket, his fingertips buzzed with the static of it as they closed over the shape of the warded cuff, now tucked inside a little suede gift pouch. He suppressed a shudder. "Here." He watched Jimmy's face carefully, looking for his reaction.  
Jimmy took the pouch and opened it, gasping softly at the sight of the cuff. "Oh," he breathed, eyes wide. He looked up at Crowley, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "It's so beautiful. Thank you." He leaned in to kiss him softly. "Put it on for me?"  
Crowley blinked, not just from the kiss. _That easy_. He cleared his throat. "You really like it? I wasn't sure. I mean - you've never seemed to go for jewellery. But I just wanted to..." He tailed off. Fiddled with the screw fastening that fit the thing, semi-permanently, around its wearer's wrist. Not meant to be removed. "I was going to get you a Tiffany one but I thought that would be... impersonal. So I had this made. Just for you." Spell aside, it did look rather lovely. Spare and bright and perfectly fitted against that elegant tanned wrist. "You don't have to wear it all the time though. You can take it off any time you want." He scrutinised the rapt face before him for clues.   
Jimmy blinked as the cuff was put on his wrist and he frowned a little, brow furrowing. He shook his head and looked back up, smiling. "I'm not sure I want to. Thank you so much. I love it." He kissed Crowley again, arms wrapping around his neck.  
It was different, right? _Was_ it different? Crowley leaned into the kiss, hands tightening around Jimmy's narrow waist. Felt him shudder and moan beneath him: no different, no less delicious, than the hundreds of kisses they'd shared - a sudden knock sounded from down the hall: Juliet sat upright on the rug. Laughing, Crowley drew back. Studied Jimmy's face: still very much the same; kiss-flushed lips and heavy lidded eyes, his hair an untamed, marvellous disaster. "Shall we ignore them?" He asked, mostly joking but a little hopeful.  
Jimmy's breath was coming heavier and he stared, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. He licked his lips and stared at Crowley, seeming to consider. Then he blinked. "No, I'm hungry," he said, voice a bit confused.

  
It was the puzzlement in his tone that pulled such a pleased chuckle from Crowley. Perfect. Seamless. And strangely adorable. "Back in a tic,” he said, standing.  
Feeling a little shell-shocked at this first evidence, as unsurprising as it should have been, Crowley escaped to the solitude of the hall, wishing he had just a little more time to process this seemingly-successful development. What other changes? Humans were so... _disgusting_. So... _vulnerable and sensitive_. Crowley bit his lip. When he opened the front door, the kid in the restaurant-logo polo shirt on the other side gave him a funny look. "Sorry it's late, but you kinda live in the back end of nowhere, mister."  
"Mmm." Crowley agreed, handing him an extra ten in exchange for the two plastic bags full of takeout boxes, "it's so nobody can hear the screams."  
The kid pulled a haha-hilarious face at him. But he still jogged a little on his way back to the van, as Crowley saw him off with a little wave.  
"Come back," Jimmy complained after a minute, "I'm really hungry!" He seemed mildly frustrated at the prospect, clearly unused to it.  
Crowley's eyes widened. "Just getting cutlery," he called from the hall. This was going to be... educational.

 

When he got back into the living room, a pair of blue eyes were squinting at him over the back of the couch. He rounded it and set the food down on trays on the coffee table.

Jimmy inhaled deeply through his nose, frowning slightly. He narrowed his eyes at the food as if suspicious of it and shuffled to the edge of the couch. He shovelled a bit into his mouth and his eyes widened. "This is delicious."  
"Evidently. You want to take a breath there?" Crowley's amusement was clear in his voice as he watched, nothing short of enraptured, Jimmy wolf down a plateful of Chicken Alfredo whilst Crowley picked apart some garlic bread, wondering. Sure, as a demon he appreciated fine cuisine, but watching Jimmy's eyes practically roll back in his head over some pretty average takeout...  
Jimmy looked up with big eyes at the words. "This is the best pasta I've ever had," he defended before taking another large bite, a noise of pleasure escaping his throat.  
"I should've tipped the delivery boy more." Crowley said, a little shaken. He popped some more bread into his mouth and chewed, woodenly. If this was how Jimmy reacted to _food_ now... Crowley swallowed his mouthful. A sudden memory accosted him. Addiction. The pain of feeling. Betrayal. Loneliness. But, oh God, the sensations - food, drink - getting drunk! The _sex_ , dear Hell, the _sex_... He watched Jimmy eyeing Crowley's own untouched plate and pushed it across the table towards him.  
Jimmy's eyes flicked to Crowley. "You need to eat," he complained, though his gaze went back the food briefly: he clearly wanted it.  
"Had buffet in the board meeting today, love. I'm full up on canapés." He watched with fascination as Jimmy pulled an uncertain face, then laid into the second plate of pasta. For the first time in a very long time, he thought about blood. Well... He often thought about blood, but not in the way that made the crook of his elbow itch like that. Crowley folded his arms. No. Too much. Too risky. He'd already allowed himself to be weakened irresponsibly by that damn magic mirror. But seeing Jimmy like this... The prospect of feeling those feelings when he had someone to feel them _for_... Crowley tilted his head, carried on his careful observation.  
When Jimmy finally finished Crowley's food he sat back with a groan, hand resting over his stomach. "It hurts," he complained, looking up at Crowley with uncertain eyes. He obviously didn't understand that pain and seemed distressed by it.  
"I'm not surprised, love, the rate you put that away. Come here." He held out an arm.  
Jimmy curled up against Crowley's side, tucking his head under the man's chin, an arm wrapping around him. He let out a sigh of pleasure. "You're so warm," he whispered.  
A wave of answering heat seemed to uncurl itself in Crowley's gut; possessiveness, protectiveness, alien tenderness. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jimmy's head. Still that same spicy hit of drugstore aftershave, but his strange, angelic nothing-scent seemed faded, diminished. He rested a palm on Jimmy's waist, circled slow and gentle across his belly, releasing a little whispered minor enchantment. "Better?"  
Jimmy made a soft noise and his body slowly relaxed into Crowley's. "Much," he confirmed, nuzzling against Crowley's neck. "Are you wearing different cologne than usual?" He asked, kissing at his skin.  
The soft touch of his lips set the hairs on the back of Crowley's vessel's neck on end. Delightful. But all Crowley could do was wonder, how much _more_..? "Mmm," he angled his head, allowing those sweet lips more access. He'd not changed his usual favourite, but he could just imagine how it must seem to Jimmy, drowning in newly grounded senses. "Do you approve?"  
Jimmy nosed gently at Crowley's neck, giving a little nod. "It's much more subtle," he commented, "Not that I minded before. I liked the other one as well." He gave a soft noise, snuggling in closer. "You're _really_ warm."  
"Hot blooded, love." Crowley heard the catch in his own voice. He caught the wrist encircled with the cuff in one hand. Toyed with it, finger running around the slim band of silver. Marvelling. Jimmy shifted sleepily in his arms. He felt... _different_. Hell help him, but Crowley liked it. Just as Jimmy had said: he'd liked it before, but _now_...  
Jimmy hummed softly. "It's nice," he murmured. He slowly crawled back into Crowley's lap, curling in it. His head rested against his lover's shoulder, lips moving along his neck, soft kisses peppering his skin.  
Brushing fingertips at the back of Jimmy's neck, Crowley felt him shiver, bristling the hairs that were shaved in at his nape... Would that hair grow now? Crowley's fingers slid into the thickness of it, tightening gently.  
Jimmy let out something akin to a whine. "Oh," he breathed, eyes fluttering closed. He nipped at Crowley's neck, breathing shallow. "I think we should go to bed."  
"Do you, now?" Crowley chased the goose-bumps that rose on one bare forearm with the tip of a finger. The delicate dark hair there, shivering to attention. So sensitive. His dick jerked, hard already. Out of nowhere he thought again of blood, running through his veins.  
"Yes," Jimmy panted softly, fingers digging into the back of Crowley's neck. "You feel so good tonight. I want more. _Give it to me_." The last words were a low growl, desperate. Demon or not, it made Crowley's head spin, that gritty sweet voice, filled with demanding, even as his means to enforce it had so recently evaporated... Crowley gave a growl of his own. Closed his hands over slender wrists, covered Jimmy's mouth with his own.  
Jimmy kissed Crowley back hard, moaning against his mouth. He trembled in Crowley's lap, shifting to straddle him properly. He rolled his hips, grinding firmly against him, whimpering into it. Crowley's hands found their way beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt, petted over smooth skin, and - was that the first hint of the angel breaking a sweat?  Crowley rocked his hips up, the hard line of his erection rubbing against Jimmy's arse. Thrust his tongue deeper into that sweet welcoming mouth. Jimmy shuddered hard, rocking his hips back and forth. His own cock bulged in his jeans as he sucked on Crowley's tongue. He pulled back after a moment, gasping for air. "Bedroom," he pleaded.  
"Bedroom," Crowley agreed, his voice ragged. He glanced down at the rug. Juliet was snoring quietly but Whiskers cast him a sincerely filthy look. "Up." He tipped Jimmy off his lap as he stood, hands still firm around his sleek hips. Led him, stealing kisses every few steps, out into the hall and upstairs, to the room he'd come to think of as 'theirs'. Jimmy didn't even glance at the animals, clearly too distracted. He followed Crowley upstairs, stumbling a bit, which only made him laugh. When they got to the room he fell back onto the bed, hands grabbing Crowley's arms to pull him along.

  
His coordination was off. Even his movements different: not a lack of grace, but a different kind, fluid and human replacing alien poise. Crowley landed, hands braced either side of Jimmy's head. Jimmy actually squirming beneath him. "Hello, angel," Crowley murmured. He leaned in, nudging Jimmy's chin up with his nose, scraping his teeth gently down his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple, the catch of stubble beneath his tongue.  
Jimmy gasped in pleasure, letting out a long whine. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm so sensitive tonight," he breathed, "I want to feel you everywhere."  
Crowley bit back a growl. That oh-so-literal wording of his... His lips brushed kisses feather-light up Jimmy's neck, tongue tracing the curve of an ear. "Look at me, love. What colour are my eyes?"  
Jimmy furrowed his brow at the question and looked up at Crowley, eyes searching his face. "I...They're...Brown. They're always brown. Why?"  
_Not red. Interesting_. Crowley couldn't be certain if the sudden lurch inside him was disappointment or excitement. This fragile creature, in his arms, seeing him as just a man. "Not important." He kissed his frown, the bridge of his nose.  
Jimmy shivered, stroking his hands along Crowley's back. "You feel incredible," he breathed.  
"Affectionate tonight, kitten." Crowley's mouth found Jimmy's, lips soft. He was surely imagining that the pulse beneath his fingertips moved faster than usual, heartbeat fluttering like butterfly wings caged in cupped hands. Gentle wasn't usually his style, but with this one, he was learning. With Jimmy, everything was different.  
"I'm always affectionate," Jimmy argued. He leaned up to nibble on Crowley's earlobe, breath panting soft against his ear, heavier and quicker than usual. Fingers slipped under his shirt, tracing along the small of his back.  
"I can't argue with that." Crowley arched into his touch. "But I'm curious... How sensitive..." His palms skimmed Jimmy's ribs, pushing his shirt up until it rucked up around his armpits. Crowley lowered his head. A flick of his tongue, then he blew gently across one nipple; watched, fascinated, as it shivered to attention.  
Jimmy squirmed a little at the so-gentle touch as if he'd been tickled. He watched Crowley and gasped out in pleasure, arching his back. Fingers pushed into his hair, holding tight. "More."  
"More?" Crowley was tempted to make him ask for it. To beg. Just to see that blush rise, to see him get flustered. But something about having him almost-human was sending Crowley sentimental in a quite unprecedented way. His voice dropped, soft as ashes. "Let's get you undressed, shall we?"  
Jimmy licked his lips as he stared up at Crowley, breath coming uneven. He nodded quickly, breath shaky. "You too," he whispered, "I want to feel you."  
"You'll be feeling me till next Tuesday once I've finished with you, petal," Crowley purred in his ear. His hands made quick work of Jimmy's belt, slim hips lifting to aid Crowley tugging his jeans down and off. Crowley bit his lip at the sight: wet spot soaked through the jersey of his briefs where Jimmy had pitched quite the impressive tent. Crowley knelt above him, shrugged off his own jacket and then started on his shirt buttons. Slow. Giving him a show.  
Jimmy's breath caught briefly at the words and then came heavier, faster as he watched Crowley strip. "Please," he whined. He sounded... _desperate_.

And Crowley should be smirking - never in his wildest dreams had he thought he'd ever witness the mighty Castiel writhing and begging in his bed - but instead his mouth felt dry. Honest desire. He pushed off his shirt, socks, kicked out of his trousers, gaze never leaving Jimmy's face. "I want to taste every inch of you."  
Jimmy whimpered at the words, spread his legs for Crowley, seeming to invite him to do just that. "I want you to," he breathed, "I wanna do it too. "  
"Oh, angel." Fingertips hooked beneath the waistband of Jimmy's underwear, easing them down. Jimmy’s cock bobbed, flushed and wet, against his belly. So _pretty_. _Eager_. Crowley licked his lips, mouth flooding with spit. "I'll learn how to play you like a symphony." His voice, rough with want. "All those sweet little noises you make when my mouth's on you... _here_...” His lips moved, downwards, “And _here_..."  
Jimmy whimpered, reaching out to run his fingers through Crowley's hair. "You're incredible," he said, breathless, "Every touch, every kiss. You know how to make me feel amazing."  
When had slaps turned to caresses, bites to kisses? Crowley's head reeled. This wasn't right, but it was _so right_. His mouth trailed a wet worshipful path across tanned skin. Tasted on him the faint unfamiliar hint of salt. When his path of kisses ended between Jimmy's eagerly spread thighs, Crowley couldn't hold back a moan: the scent of him, newly animal, intoxicating. He felt Jimmy’s fingers curl in his hair, tugging ever so gently as Jimmy spread his legs further apart, clearly eager. "Fergus," he whined, the word a plea.  
And when had that name changed from a shameful irritation to something that made Crowley's chest echo in an entirely different way? Jimmy’s voice, only his. Crowley rubbed his cheek against the dark curls at the base of him, inhaling that sweet earthy scent. Licked up his length, hot and trembling under his tongue. Took him in all at once with a luxuriating groan.  
Jimmy's eyes shot wide and fingers tugged hard on Crowley's hair. He let out a strangled moan unlike any Crowley had ever heard from him. "Oh my fucking gosh!"  
"Mmmm," Crowley agreed, his mouth most decidedly full. That sharp salt taste already at the back of his tongue, Jimmy's thighs shaking beneath his palms where Crowley held them spread wide. He moaned louder, head bobbing, increasing the pressure. _How many times can I make you come for me tonight, angel?_ Jimmy threw his head back, moans falling from his lips over and over. It was clearly overwhelming. His hips twitched and he pushed them up, but it wasn't nearly as forceful as it usually might be. And whilst Crowley did enjoy those reminders of angelic strength... He slid his palms beneath the curve of Jimmy's arse, pushing him easily into position, taking him deeper, as his thumbs circled that tight little entrance.  
Jimmy whimpered, eyes screwing tightly shut. He pulled Crowley's hair again, but it wasn't nearly as hard as usual. "Please!" _Harder_. Just the tip of one thumb breaching him, pressing in dry, rougher than Crowley really meant it and Jimmy gasped out and whimpered softly. "M-more gentle," he said, sounding confused by the request.  
The uncertainty in that gravel voice went straight to Crowley's happy place. Not sure whether he wanted to sink his teeth in or wrap the angel in cotton wool, carefully he withdrew, kissing the tip of Jimmy's spit-slick cock. "On your knees for me." He didn't really have to ask; it was easy enough to manhandle him to his liking now and Jimmy didn't seem to be complaining too strenuously: he nodded quickly, seemingly all too eager to do as he was told. He flipped to his hands and knees and pressed his ass back, looking over his shoulder.  
What a glorious view. Crowley smoothed palms down his sides, chasing the shiver of goose-bumps that rose on smooth skin as Jimmy arched his back. "If you want me to be gentle, I'll have to take my time..." He drew a finger slowly down the cleft of Jimmy's arse. Followed it with a slow drag of his tongue. "Can you be patient for me, pet? How long can you wait?"  
Jimmy drew in a long breath, moaning at the feeling. He whimpered, fingers curling in the sheets. "Yes," he gasped, "As long as you want me to. Please." That last, a drawn out hiss of pleasure. His wanton angel certainly seemed less abandoned than usual - his urging turning to uncertainty at the thickness of Crowley's fingers - and it made Crowley want to lavish attention on all those most secret parts of him. The delicate skin between his fingers, the creases behind his knees. Crowley sought out each weak spot with his mouth, tender and relentless. But most of all - _oh, but he tasted sweet._ Crowley's tongue pressed harder against tight heat, lapped until he felt it soften and give, finally accepting the first finger he pressed inside.  
Jimmy gasped, taking a few deep breaths that shook. His hole loosened and he pressed back against the finger, moaning. "Fergus," he whined, tugging on the sheets.  
"Slowly, sweetheart." Crowley whispered it against warm skin, his lips brushing the spot between Jimmy's shoulder blades as he covered him. His cock rutting between Jimmy's thighs, sliding against the angel's hard-on. _Deep breaths. Control it._ Crowley made a little gesture out of line of sight - no way was he moving to go rummaging around in the nightstand - and flipped the cap off the lube bottle that appeared in his hand.  
Jimmy moaned more loudly when he felt Crowley's cock slide against his. He bucked his hips, panting heavily. "I want it. Fergus... Fuck. I need you."   
That voice, his touch still sent shivers skimming across every inch of Crowley's vessel's skin. But now - different. No longer the pre-storm crackle of a flesh-bound celestial, but something even deeper. Earthly. Crowley closed his eyes. Breathed in. Chest pressed to back, sweat starting to collect in a sweet slide as his slicked fingers worked Jimmy carefully open.  
Jimmy rocked his hips back and forth, helping him work his fingers whilst their cocks rubbed together. Jimmy dropped his head, the back of his neck curling with it. Sweat dripped down it slowly. His back heaved with each breath, heavier than usual. He was shaking already. Crowley dragged his tongue, a fat wet path up the ridge of Jimmy's spine, pressed them closer. Murmured, low, "You ready for me, angel?"  
Jimmy arched his back at Crowley's tongue, whimpering. "Yes," he breathed, "Please, yes. I need you.”  
_Still so tight_. With a steadying hand on one of Jimmy's hips, Crowley eased inside, just an inch, all too aware of the shuddering breaths, the sweat springing little curls into his angel's dark hair.  
Jimmy gasped loudly, hole clenching. He buried his face in the pillow, whimpering. "Are you bigger tonight?" He asked, voice accusing.  
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut at that, the sudden rush in his veins that made his dick throb, made him want to _thrust_. He managed a low chuckle, fingers tightening on Jimmy's hip. "Darling, I'm flattered."  
Tightening his grip in the sheets Jimmy seemed to force deep breaths until he slowly relaxed around him again. "Fuck."  
Crowley groaned. Edged deeper, teeth clenched at the sweetness of oversensation. "I adore your filthy mouth. Tell me. I feel bigger tonight? Do you like it?"  
"Yes, y-you do," Jimmy confirmed, legs and arms shaking with exertion. "It...it hurts a little, but fuck...it's good. It's so good."  
"So good," Crowley echoed. He ached with the effort of holding back: he'd never felt any torment more delicious. The hand on Jimmy's hip slid around, closed over the hard heat of his cock. He began to move, matching the stroke of his fist to his fast shallow thrusts.  
Jimmy cried out when Crowley started to stroke him. He fell to his elbows, face pressing into the pillow beneath him. He rocked back a little bit, more tentative than usual. Excruciating, exquisite. Crowley’s breath dragged in long deep pulls, meditative. The man beneath him trembled. Breaking. Crowley let out a breath like a sigh. His voice little more than a smooth whisper. "Can you take a little more, love?"  
Jimmy hesitated a moment and then nodded. "Yes," he whispered, "But I...I don't know how long I can last."  
Crowley gave his length a firmer squeeze in answer, thumb swiping over the tip, holding him close as he gasped and arched. Edging carefully deeper: not even half inside him, but he'd adjust, with practice; Crowley swallowed around the tightness in his throat. Hellfire in the pit of his gut. "Let go for me, angel. Let me see you fall." His voice buzzed against the nape of Jimmy's neck. "And I'll catch you."  
Jimmy cried out loudly, thrusting into Crowley's hand, and just like the he was shooting across the sheets, covering Crowley's fingers as he clenched impossibly tighter around him.

  
Crowley voiced his pleasure, a low rumbling purr in the back of his throat. Coaxing the last shudders from the sleek body beneath him, he felt Jimmy sag against the mattress. Held him close, picking up his pace, riding him fast and shallow as he licked the bittersweetness of Jimmy's come from his fingers. Jimmy whimpered, body relaxing as Crowley worked him. He pushed back weakly, turning his head so his cheek rested against the pillow. "More," he breathed, " _Deeper_."  
A hand running down Jimmy's flank, skin glowing damp. The flush across his high broad cheekbones had never looked so beautiful, his eyes glassy and dark behind lowered lashes. His hair in utter disarray as his head rocked helplessly against the pillows with every jerk of Crowley's hips. "I won't hurt you." Crowley realised he really didn't want to, but even as the words left his lips he was pushing deeper, faster; that tight little arse, that honey-rough voice, was too tempting to resist.  
Jimmy whimpered, clutching the pillow underneath his head. His lips parted as his body jostled with each thrust. "Y-you feel so good."  
"Jimmy..." He heard the crack in his own voice, stamina crumbling under the onslaught of emotion. "I'm close..." The rhythm of his thrusts felt distanced, something innate and beyond his control, pushing towards his goal, that hot feeling growing heavier...  
"Please," Jimmy moaned, clutching the pillow more tightly. He clenched around him again. "Fill me up, Fergus. Please, love. I want it so badly."  
"Ji-" his name was lost in Crowley's incoherent grunt of completion, a hit of solid, knee-weakening, gut-punching pleasure and then he was panting through the aftershocks, hips still thankfully pulling his thrusts, control he never knew he had in him. Who knew that name from those lips could have such an effect... Crowley drew out carefully, pressed his forehead against the sweat-slick dip of Jimmy's back, breathing hard.

  
"Oh...oh, that feels so good," Jimmy panted, body going completely limp beneath Crowley. When he collapsed, fully, onto the mattress it was all Crowley could do to not just drape right on top of him. He pressed his mouth, once, against the smooth curve of his back; a shaky kiss. Then he rolled over to sprawl across the sheets beside him. Passing a hand over his eyes, Crowley chuckled, stupid laughter bubbling up like champagne fizz. "That was... Not bad at all."  
Jimmy opened his eyes to look at him, pouting. "Not bad?" He seemed offended. "That's not nice. I thought it was incredible." He wrinkled his nose. "Though I feel gross."  
Crowley's shoulders shook. The entire weight of the whole sorry mess the world was in yet again felt temporarily lifted. "Still haven't grasped irony yet, have you pet?" He rolled over, planting a soft kiss on that irresistible pout. "That was indescribable. Wonderful. You rock my world." _And you didn't atomise a single light fixture whilst doing it._ He ran a hand down Jimmy's arm, fingers lingering on the circle of silver around his wrist. "Not too sore, are you?"  
Jimmy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but relaxed, reaching out with a lazy arm to touch Crowley's hand. "Just a little bit," he said, "That's odd. I'm very sweaty too. I don't appreciate that. I don't sweat."  
Flicking his tongue out, Crowley swiped a swift lick across one soft nipple. He leaned back, resting his head on one hand, grinning. "I think I like you sweaty. Sweaty and dishevelled." He cocked his head, suddenly wondering. "How do you _feel_?"  
Jimmy let out a little whimper, fingers pushing into Crowley's hair. "I don't like it," he complained, "I'm very tired and want a shower. But I'm... more tired than I ever am."  
Little twists of feelings - concern, guilt, pride, adoration - warred in Crowley's gut. He turned his head, kissing the inside of Jimmy's wrist. "Did I wear you out, pet?" The notion pleased him more than he knew it should. He cared, he really did, but... He could erase any lingering effects while the angel slept, let him wake spotless and whole and energised as ever. Or he could leave him to recover like a human: muscle aches, sore, stretched, feeling Crowley's touch for days... Crowley bit the inside of his cheek: that train of though was leading down one track only, and his temporarily human lover was certainly done for the night. Which should be disappointing but... Crowley felt the distinct stir of protectiveness, and not a small amount of curiosity. How _would_ it feel to be human-adjacent, just one more time? "You'll sleep well tonight. You want to grab a quick shower with me first?"  
Jimmy stared at him with sleepy eyes. Fingers trailed lazily along his arm, petting him tenderly. He licked his lips in thought. "Okay," he agreed, "But no... _funny business_."  
"Sweetheart! I may be randy but I'm not a monster." Crowley shuffled to the edge of the bed, eyeing Jimmy dubiously. Jimmy’s eyelids were heavy, breathing regular, sated. He looked pretty unlikely to be going anywhere, never mind showering.  
He gave a little huff at that and curled in closer to Crowley. "Just a few minutes," he mumbled, and within moments he was asleep, snoring quietly.  
Crowley sat watching him for a while. Shook his head and lay back down, pulling the quilt up over them both. When he drew close, Jimmy made a soft fretful noise in his sleep, fitting his body closer to Crowley's: when Crowley rested a hand lightly on his hip, the tension drained again. Crowley caught his lip between his teeth. Whispered a few words under his breath, with a light touch to his sleeping companion's shoulder, and both of them were clean again: he'd surely not question it in the morning. "Sweet dreams, love." Crowley murmured in his ear. Draping an arm across Jimmy's waist, he let sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for anyone who's stuck with this, we really appreciate it. Sorry updates have been slow, we've both had a lot on our plates recently. If you're enjoying it, we'd love if you left a little comment x


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks get stoned in the woods like teenagers, build a blanket fort and tell each other secrets: A Fluff Chapter.

Things had been strange for Jimmy ever since that night. He found himself tired, taking naps in the middle of the day. Where before he’d taken showers because he was supposed to, because they were relaxing, now he felt the _need_. Especially after sex, when he was covered in sweat and semen. It was not pleasant. The sex though – well, that was. He was so much more sensitive. It was as if before there had been something numbing him to it all. The sex was even more incredible than it had been before. The only problem there (other than how gross he felt afterward, physically) was that he tired. His muscles got sore, his body weak. Still, what he seemed to be lacking in physical strength lately was made up for in the way Crowley gave, the way he made him feel.

Then there was the way he got cold, but it was nice because he’d curl up against Crowley and he’d feel so warm. Wrapped up in those strong arms he felt cozy and safe. So while things had been strange, they were still wonderful.

 

When Jimmy arrived home, Crowley was already there waiting for him in the lounge, which was unusual in itself when Jimmy had worked a day shift. Also highly unusual was the fact that Crowley was not wearing a suit - the realisation settled that he'd not seen Crowley out of one before. And now here he was, in jeans and a t-shirt... Black jeans and a black t-shirt, granted, but all the same...

Jimmy blinked in surprise, eyes running over Crowley as he set his keys on the end table and slipped out of his shoes. Crowley looked very good. "Hello, love. I wasn't expecting you."

"Early dart, sweetheart." Crowley leaned back on the couch and smiled up at him, keeping place in the book he was reading with one finger between the pages. "I wanted to surprise you. How was work?"

"Well you certainly succeeded," Jimmy replied with a smile. He leaned down, kissing Crowley's lips softly. "A very pleasant surprise. Work was fine. How has your day been?"

"The office was, oh, y’know. Hell." Crowley's smile tipped lopsided.   
"At least you're home now," Jimmy said with a smile, brushing his fingers through Crowley's hair as he sat next to him.   
"But now... I have a surprise for you."  
"Oh? And what is that?"

Crowley raised one eyebrow. "It's in my pocket. Just have a reach in..."

Jimmy raised his own brow in response. He slid his hand into Crowley's pocket, expecting this to be something dirty. Instead he pulled out a bag. His brow furrowed as he took in the green buds. "Is this marijuana?"

"Ding ding. Not just a pretty face, are you?" Crowley tilted his head. "And for dessert." He lifted a bottle of liquid from down beside the sofa: the label suggested alcohol, and old, but it was written in a European-looking language that Jimmy didn't recognise. "Fancy a little twilight picnic, ducky?"

Jimmy tipped his head to the side, wondering why Crowley would get them marijuana. He'd never tried it, but it seemed odd. "That's illegal," he commented.

"Mmm," Crowley's smirk widened. "Naughty, isn't it? Although..." His fingers brushed Jimmy's knee. "Depends where you are. It's legal in Colorado. So... we could drive all the way there, I suppose. Or we could just pretend we're there already." He looked up expectantly through his eyelashes.

Jimmy pondered that a moment. It certainly was illegal, but what were the chances of the cops showing up out here and arresting them. He bit his lower lip, slightly anxious, and after a moment nodded. "Okay. We can do it."

"Atta boy." The hand on his knee patted, briskly, and Crowley jumped to his feet, holding out both hands. "I've packed a few other bits too. Thought we could take a stroll out back. You've not explored the grounds much yet, have you? And I know how much you like your nature..."

Jimmy took Crowley's hand, running his thumb over the silver ring on his pinky - that was new. "Okay, that sounds nice," he said with a little smile.

 

It was early enough to still be light outside, one of those early summer evenings where the scent of grass and flowers intensifies in the drowsy warmth of a day just starting to wind down. The back of the house opened out straight onto an overgrown yard, fence long since rotted into the ground: Crowley stepped over the remains of it and led Jimmy into the longer grass that came up to their knees, leading up to a stretch of woodland. A pause. Crowley turned his head sharply, bringing his arm up, sneezed into the crook of his elbow, causing Jimmy to jump in surprise. Then he shook his head, sniffing, and carried on toward the trees. Something else that was oddly new.

"Do you have allergies?"

"Bit of hayfever. Nothing to worry about." Crowley flashed him a grin, then wound one arm around his waist. It made wading through knee-high grass even more awkward, but Jimmy wasn't about to pull away.

 

It was darker under the trees. Quieter too, somehow, even though the woods were alive with sounds: rustles and chirps and the fluent trill of birdsong. Snapping twigs beneath their feet. The sweet brown scent of rich earth. "Just a bit further. Place I found."

It was still taking some getting used to, how quiet it was around here. Jimmy could have sworn it wasn't this quiet when he first moved in. He nodded at the comment, stumbling a little.

 

Finally, the trees thinned out into a little clearing, enough that the late evening sunlight could spill gold on the floor. The grass there was different, fine as hair and a tender spring green colour. It looked soft. Inviting. Crowley dumped the canvas bag he'd been carrying and sprawled out on the ground. "Thought it was pretty. Thought you'd like it."

Jimmy looked around, smiling softly. "It's beautiful," he murmured quietly, sitting down next to Crowley. The ground was a bit rough, but he still enjoyed it.

"Yeah. One of God's little masterpieces." Was that a hint of sourness? It was gone so quickly Jimmy could have imagined it, that husky voice taking back its usual adoring tone. "It suits you, being out here. Nature boy. Here..." He dug in the bag, offering a rolled up tartan blanket like a question.

Jimmy smiled at the words, ducking his head. He took the blanket, spreading it out before sitting on it properly, and grabbed Crowley’s hand, pulling him down beside him.

Crowley lolled on his side, cheek propped up on his hand, gazing up at Jimmy for a moment. The warm breeze ruffled his hair, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Jimmy brushed his thumb lightly over Crowley's forehead, feeling the dampness there. That was new as well. He didn't comment though. He'd been doing things like sweating lately, too. It was disgusting. Crowley nodded at the bag. "Crack open that bottle. What say you we make it a party?"

With a nod Jimmy sat upright and opened the bottle. "Are we drinking from it?"

"No, we're peeing in it." Crowley shot him a teasing grin. "Oh, you mean, did I bring glasses?" His lower lip caught between his teeth, the briefest flicker of a frown. "I, ah. Forgot. I don't mind slumming it if you don't, princess."

Jimmy rolled his eyes fondly and brought the bottle to his lips, making a point of taking a long drink from the bottle. The burn caught him by surprise though and he coughed. Holding the bottle out, he looked at it accusingly. "What is this?"

"Good surprise or bad surprise?" Crowley raised an eyebrow and held his hand out for the bottle. He wrinkled his nose after the first swig, but still quickly took a second. "Slivovitz. Harsher than I remember, but it has been aged a while. Not too bad though. You like it?"

"It's the harshest liquor I've encountered," Jimmy said, brow furrowed. Perhaps the only harsh liquor he'd encountered. He couldn't remember ever experiencing a burn, but at least he wasn't alone. "It is nice. That was just...unexpected."

"Thought it'd be sweeter." Crowley looked a little rueful. "Should've brought you your peach schnapps. Never mind." He leaned backwards across the blanket, reaching for the bag, and pulling out a plain black tin.

Jimmy smiled softly. "Don't worry about it, love. It's very nice. Just stronger than I'm used to."

Sitting back up he crossed his legs and cradled the open tin between them, Crowley pulled out a pack of cigarette papers. The point of his tongue dragged along one glued side as he stuck the skins together with practised efficiency, eyes never leaving Jimmy's face. Jimmy watched him lick the paper and he could feel his heart beating a bit faster. Another new thing.

"Mmm. Likewise. We should be careful with that. Might get us tipsy." Jimmy scoffed. That was unlikely, but then... it _was_ far stronger than he was used to. He supposed it was possible. Crowley's grin was pure mischief. Considering how big his hands, they were graceful, rolling up what was surely larger than the average size of cannabis cigarette, tucking in a little screw of rolled card at one end and twisting the other tight, and... that tongue again. He pinched off the excess of paper from the tip and regarded his handiwork critically. "Shall I do the honours?"

He watched Crowley, his heart doing that thing again. "Since I've never done this, yes. That would be wise."

An almost reverential nod of his head. Crowley flipped open his lighter and set the flame to the joint between his lips, until the smoke curled blue. Leaning back onto both elbows, he took a long pull. Held it, squinting a little, for what seemed like a long time, before blowing a steady stream out from both nostrils. His mouth opened in a sigh. He passed the joint to Jimmy, reaching for the bottle.

Jimmy couldn't help watching attentively. He always liked watching Crowley smoke cigarettes, liked the way the smoke drifted from his lips. He took the joint and tentatively pressed it between his lips. He inhaled and held it for a moment before falling into a coughing fit. "That's... even... worse."

Leaning over to rub his back, Crowley's smile wobbled like he was holding in laughter. "Give it a minute, Sandra Dee." He stole the joint from Jimmy's fingers, taking another drag, and holding it out of the way while Jimmy's coughs died down.

"I had sex with you far too early in our relationship to be called that," Jimmy huffed once he was finally done coughing. He took a deep breath, trying to relax.

"You're trying to convince me you're worldly? Not buying it for a minute, kitten. Nor would I want to." He carefully handed the joint back, eyes tracking Jimmy's every move. "Just... Lie back. Relax into it. No rush."

Jimmy gave another huff, but slowly laid on his back. He watched Crowley as he brought the joint his lips, inhaling slowly, not such a big hit this time. He held it in a moment before simply breathing out, letting it slow passed his lips.

"Mmmmm." Crowley's voice was a rumbling purr. "There you go. Catching on." He leaned back on his elbows again, at Jimmy's side. Waved away the stray gnats that were starting to drift in as the day died. Above them, through the crosshatch of tree branches, the sky slowly melted to pink as the sun sank beyond the treeline, the canopy chiming with birdsong.

Jimmy reached up to stroke Crowley's cheek gently, fingers stroking along his beard. "You're so beautiful," he sighed softly in contentment, "So warm. My goodness, I adore you."

Crowley's smile was unguardedly pleased. His cheeks pink, but that could have been the drink. He said, "You're stoned already." But he didn't sound much like he meant it.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, hand sliding up further into Crowley's hair. "It's possible. I'm not well acquainted on how long it takes to set in. That doesn't make what I said less meaningful. I've never felt this way. I didn't know I could."

"I..." Crowley hesitated. Wet his lips with liqueur when he took another, longer swig from the bottle with the handwritten label. He was sinking, slowly further down onto the blanket, until he appeared to give up and flopped down on his back next to Jimmy, gazing up at the gathering twilight. "Me either." He turned his head to face him, the last rays of sun turning his eyes gold. He wasn't smiling, his voice quiet. "I love you."

Jimmy stared up at the sky until Crowley spoke. He looked over at him, searching his face. He really was so beautiful it made him ache with love. "That's better," he whispered, "I love you too."

Crowley squinted through the smoke as he exhaled another drag, raised a hand to push his hair back from his forehead. "You didn't think you could feel.... Like this. I'm surprised." His voice was even rougher for the smoke, roots-deep. "You're... made for love." He looked hard at Jimmy. Shadows just starting to fall across his face in the fading light. "I don't mean sex and that's not some kind of terrible line. You're... pure. Made of it. To champion it."

Jimmy's eyes searched Crowley's face as he spoke. His eyes were full of love, heart pounding harder. He reached up to touch his cheek as he spoke, smiling. At the last words he began to laugh though. "I'm sorry! No, you're so sweet just..." He snorted and covered his mouth, eyes wide with surprise. "I... I am the... I... I am the champion of love. Where's my belt?"

For a second Crowley just stared. Then a grin broke across his face. "You arsehole. I'm baring my heart to you here." His chuckles graduated to laughter, until he was shaking with it.

"I'm sorry, I d-don't know why that's so funny," Jimmy gasped out, his stomach that was now aching from his laughter.

"Idiot," Crowley said, voice loaded with affection. He struggled to a sitting position again. Jimmy reached out, fingers trailing lightly over his back. "I'm rolling another. It's clear you're not remotely munted enough yet." Mostly out of eyeline, his hands moved, fluent even though he was obviously worse for wear. "I mean it though. I love you. I don't think I've ever been in love before. Thought I had, but..." He cleared his throat softly. "I'm not sure I've even loved anyone. Not since I was a kid. My son. Perhaps."

Suddenly Jimmy was pushing up onto his elbows. “Excuse me?”

"Why, what did you do?" The words were joking but his tone was anxious, chewing on his lip as he focused on rolling, wetting the seam and wrapping it up.

Jimmy frowned, sitting up fully. His head spun for a moment and he frowned, getting his bearings back before speaking again. "You have a son? And you never thought to mention this to me?"

"I... had a son." Crowley glanced at him and hurriedly amended, "No, not that. We just... you could say we're estranged." He tilted his head, staring down into the tin still open in his lap. "He's grown up. I don't see him. And... I'm mentioning it now. I haven't upset you, have I? I... didn't know how to tell you. I thought it might... put you off." He raised the bottle to his lips again, a deep swig; Dutch courage. "My life hasn't exactly been all fireworks and roses, love. I've done a lot I'm not proud of." His voice dropped. "And it might be selfish but I don't want to lose you because of it."

Jimmy stared at Crowley, disbelieving. Was he really hearing all of this? They were living together, had been for a little while, and he was only now finding out that the man had a son? He reached out, taking the bottle from him and sipping it, burn be damned. "You need to tell me these things, Fergus. We're living together. I have a right to know."

"I know. And I _am_ telling you. I just apparently have spectacularly dreadful timing. But..." His eyebrows drew together, troubled, as he avoided Jimmy's gaze. "The one thing I _can_ promise you is the past is the past. I've changed." He gave a short laugh that sounded somehow surprised. "You would not _believe_ how I've changed. And I will never now knowingly do a thing to hurt you, Jimmy."

Jimmy searched Crowley's face and sighed, lying back down. "Well, what else have you not told me that is relevant? I want to know all of it." He stared up at the sky, trying to work through this. What bothered him the most was that Crowley had kept this a secret, really.

"I don't know what you'd call relevant." His voice sounded rough, a little wretched. "If I saw Gavin, if I was in touch with him, I would have told you sooner. I don't even know where the lad is. Jimmy... What do you want me to say? I've already mucked up this evening."

"I want you to tell me anything I should know," Jimmy huffed, eyes flicking to Crowley and back up to the sky. "I don't want you to keep things from me."

Crowley let out a long sigh. He held the second unlit joint up in front of his face like he was considering, then tucked it into the tin and set the whole thing aside, resting his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. "You know about my mum. I never knew my father; don't even know his name. Gavin's mother was a..." He cleared his throat quietly, his voice dropping, words speeding up. "Lady of the night. We spent a night together, she showed up a year later and dropped him off. I wasn't... the best father. He left as soon as he had chance." He glanced over at Jimmy, waiting.

Jimmy looked over to Crowley again as he spoke. After a moment he reached out, stroking his lover's arm. "Have you tried to get in contact with him lately?" He asked quietly.

Crowley's gaze dropped to the hand on his arm. A few moments of watching it, dumbly. "I wouldn't know where to start. He made it pretty clear he didn't want anything to do with me. And he's a grown man now. I was..." His teeth worried at his lower lip. "...young. When he was born."

Jimmy watched Crowley, expression soft. "Okay," he said quietly, "If you wanted to I could help you think about how to start."

"I've never really considered that it could be a..." Crowley cleared his throat, rubbed his nose a little aggressively with the back of one hand. "Here, pass me the bottle, would you, love?" He took a longer than normal swig. "I'd have to think about it. Opening old wounds. You have to understand that."

"Just...if you don't, make sure it's for the right reasons." Jimmy gently began to massage Crowley's arm. "Don't avoid it because you're afraid of being hurt."

"Just give me a little time is all I ask, angel. It may be selfish of me, but I've not been this happy..." He let the sentence hang. "I know I can't hide from my past forever, but I'd like just a little longer thinking only about our future."

Jimmy tugged gently on Crowley's arm, pulling him down to him. He reached up, gently stroking his cheek. "Okay," he said quietly, "Okay, love."

Lying on his side, Crowley propped his cheek on one hand and gazed at Jimmy's face. "Thank you. Is that enough revelations for tonight, or should I warn you about my playroom?" His eyes held a little spark of mischief that looked tentatively hopeful.

Jimmy's lips twitched a little at the comment and he slipped in closer to Crowley, fingers stroking through his hair. His tongue ran over his lips. "I think you should definitely warn me about the playroom."

"Like I said, didn't want to scare you off." His tentative smile grew a little. "It'd be nice to finally have someone to... play with, though." He butted his head against Jimmy's hand. Said, quietly, "Am I forgiven?"

Jimmy laughed softly at that and leaned forward to kiss Crowley tenderly. "Of course. I just want you to have enough faith in me that you don't feel like you need to hide things," he whispered.

Crowley closed his eyes. "I never want to hide anything from you." When he opened them again, he leaned his forehead against Jimmy's, breathing his breaths. "All I ask is that you're patient with me."

Jimmy stared back into Crowley's eyes, so beautiful and golden. "Of course," he whispered.

"In that case... You fancy sparking up number two and killing a few brain cells, kitten?"

"That is an awful way to make me want to do that," Jimmy huffed, "I'm rather fond of my brain cells."

"I'm joking, you numpty." Crowley wriggled closer across the blanket. One hand came to rest on Jimmy's waist, a warm weight. He felt Crowley shiver. The sky above them had darkened to a deep blue, pierced with stars. Without the evening sun, the air had a sharp edge of chill.

Jimmy curled into Crowley a little bit, appreciating the warmth of the big hand on his waist. The chill was a bit unpleasant when he was so unused to feeling it. He tucked his head down against his lover's chest. "You feel so nice," he sighed softly.

"Come here, pet." Crowley manoeuvred until his arm was around Jimmy, Jimmy's head resting against his shoulder, gathering him close and tangling their legs. Chests pressed together, Jimmy could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. "Warmer?"

Jimmy sighed in contentment. The feeling of Crowley wrapped around him, warm and strong. The feeling of his heart beat. It was all so soothing. "Much," he kissed, arms holding Crowley as close to him as possible.

"How's your head? Feeling anything? Little buzz?"

"It lessened a bit, but yes," Jimmy admitted, "it's odd."

The vibrations of Crowley's chuckle buzzed through his chest. "We need that top-up. But I don't want to move."

Jimmy hummed in agreement, perfectly content to stay right where he was, all night, forever. "That does complicate things."

"Don't move." Jimmy felt him fidget, one arm thrown out, patting around beyond the blanket. Jimmy made a soft noise of complaint, but then Crowley was back "Mmm. There we go. If I ash on you, just don't knee me in the nads, alright?" From the corner of his eye Jimmy watched him tuck the joint between his lips, heard the scratch of a flint, the yellow flare of the lighter throwing the darkness around them into sudden, expansive contrast.

He laughed softly. "Don't ash on me then."

"I'll do my utmost not to," Crowley mumbled. He held the joint off to one side. His chest expanded beneath Jimmy's resting head, relaxed again as he exhaled. "Here. Look at me." He took another pull, then as Jimmy looked up at him, pressed their lips softly together, exhaling gently.

Jimmy made a soft noise of surprise, but parted his lips, slowly inhaling the smoke exhaled gently into his mouth. He moaned softly, surprised to find how much he enjoyed the feeling. It was less harsh this way as well. He kissed Crowley slowly, letting the smoke escape from his nostrils at its own pace.

"Much better." That, such a quiet purr it seemed that Crowley must be talking to himself. His lips brushed Jimmy's as he spoke, catching again in another kiss, deeper but unhurried, languid. When he pulled away it was to take another drag, finger hooking beneath Jimmy's chin to raise it gently, bringing their lips together once more.

Jimmy was more than happy to do this again and this time he didn't hesitate in parting his lips for Crowley. Fingers threaded in his hair, pulling him in close so he could breathe in what was exhaled. The smoke curled between them, pale against the darkness. Breath to breath, noses touching. Crowley parted his lips for Jimmy's tongue, slow and wet and dizzying. Jimmy licked into Crowley's mouth, enjoying the taste left by the smoke. Everything was so much more sensitive and he made a noise of pleasure. It was answered by a low rumble from somewhere deep in Crowley's chest. The arm Jimmy's head was resting against curled, fingers pushing into Jimmy's hair, stroking.

Jimmy shivered at that, nuzzling the touch. It distracted him a bit, he arched into it like a cat. "Mm...That's _nice_."

"You're nice," came the answering murmur. Kisses brushed against the bridge of his nose, his eyelids. The butterfly flicker of eyelashes, soft scratch of beard as Crowley rubbed his cheek against Jimmy's.

Jimmy laughed quietly at that, nuzzling Crowley's cheek in return. He pet his side gently, tickling a little bit.

He could feel rather than hear Crowley's laughter in return, the shake of his ribs, breath catching. Then, "bollocks..." Crowley's head tilted up. The canopy of trees above them seemed suddenly a lot further away, the night sky darker. Crowley made a sudden noise that could creatively be described as a giggle. "You feel that? Was that rain?" It was like saying it made it real. Pattering spots of it, fat and wet.

Jimmy looked up, blinking at the drops. "I think so," he answered and started laughing as well. "If it isn't I'm afraid."

"We should probably..." Crowley gave a somewhat pathetic wriggle and then dissolved into laughter in earnest. "I don't think I can move." The rain patted down, thicker, on their upturned faces; Crowley squinted against it, breathless with mirth and too close to focus on properly. "Wait. I'm a genius. Roll over."

Jimmy laughed with Crowley, holding his stomach as the muscles clenched. "What?!" He rolled over so he was facing away from him, still lying on the blanket.

"Further over!" One hand on his shoulder, one on his hip, pushing firm but gentle, rolling him off onto the damp grass.

"You'll wreck my clothes!" Jimmy laughed harder at that, lying on his back and staring up at the sky, rain drops collecting in his eyelashes.

"You'll survive." Fingers found the exposed strip of skin between shirt and waistband, following the ticklish curve of Jimmy's waist. Jimmy giggled, squirming a little bit. And then everything was pitch black, and warmer, as Crowley pulled the edge of the blanket up and over them both.

"It's dark!" Jimmy declared in awe, looking up at the blanket. He leaned into Crowley, curling against him.

"And more importantly, dry. Ish." Crowley's voice sounded weirdly louder, their breathing too, the patter of rain and sigh of the wind suddenly far away as they wrapped up close in the warm bubble beneath the blanket.

Jimmy gave a little hum and rested his head in Crowley's lap. His feet poked out from under the blanket. "Yessss," he agreed and giggled in delight.

"You ever build pillow forts when you were a kid?" Their collective breath, trapped beneath heavy wool, was starting to warm up their dark little cocoon until it wasn't even that cold anymore.

Jimmy furrowed his brow at the question, trying hard to remember if he did. "Can I tell you something?" He asked, instead of answering the question, when he realized he didn't have an answer.

"Sure you can, kitten." The arm wrapped around his shoulders pulled him a little closer, hand resting steady on his bicep.

Jimmy made a pleased noise at the pet name and nuzzled Crowley's thigh gently. "I don't remember much of my childhood, or teenage years. Only the... big picture details."

"Huh." Crowley's grunt of surprise didn't sound all that surprised, but Jimmy couldn’t think about that. He was too focused on the thumb tracing circles over his arm. After a moment he said, "Were you... happy?"

"I think so..."

"There you go. It's the bad stuff that tends to stick, don't you find? Happy childhood, well..." Jimmy felt him shift, bury his nose in Jimmy's hair with a sigh that sounded more contented than sad, considering his words. "You must remember some things though? Big picture things? Tell me a secret, angel."

Jimmy peered up at Crowley, squinting a little to see him in the darkness under the blanket. He thought about it a moment. "I...Growing up I was always a bit jealous of the relationship between Dean and Sam. They've always had this bond. Such a strong one. I wanted to know what that felt like."

The hand resting against his arm shifted again, tucked the short ends of hair behind his ear. Beyond the blanket, the world could be ending for all they knew: the dull patter of rain persisted. "The two baby brothers? Not you and Dean?" Crowley said, quietly.

Jimmy gave a tiny shrug. "Dean and I did share a special bond," he admitted, "It just... he cares more about Sam. He always has and it... it's fine. I just... wonder what it's like to have someone love you so incredibly much that it's as though everything starts and ends with you, that they would die for you, sell their soul..." He paused at that, brow furrowing briefly with that nagging feeling of deja vu he got once in awhile. "It's incredible. Perhaps I wish my bond with Dean had been that strong; but I think... in general, it sounds nice. If a bit co-dependent."

"I'm sure Dean cares about you more than you realise." Crowley's voice sounded a little choked, perhaps from the smoke. "I'm sure they both do. And as for being someone's beginning and end... Well. I'm not your brother..."

Jimmy slowly moved up and reached out to cup Crowley's cheek, stroking it tenderly. "I love you," he whispered.

"Just put me to the test and you'll see how fully I return that sentiment."

Jimmy pressed his forehead against Crowley's, nose rubbing against his. "Please don't sell your soul for me though," he said with a little laugh.

"If I could, it'd be yours, pet." Crowley's lips ghosted against his. "How's my heart for a substitute? Or, y'know, my John Thomas?" Jimmy felt the smile and breath of laughter against his mouth.

"I'll gladly take your heart," Jimmy laughed softly, capturing Crowley's lips in a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a bit of plot in this one if you squint. Hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit starts to get real: the card house is shaking.
> 
> Also, there is dirty talk and couch sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shotgun wrote Jimmy and Dean. TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley and Sam. We love you forever for sticking with this fic!

His head was frigging splitting. Crowley woke with a groan to the sound of birdsong, sheets plastered to him with unwelcome sweat. Which was... Ah, yeah, _now_ he remembered why he'd hated being human-adjacent. He wriggled his arms out from beneath the sheets and focused, barely, on the offending enchanted circle of silver around his left pinky. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, to staunch his supernatural powers too, give them both the Mortal Experience, and last night had been... _Shit_. Oh, _shit_. He covered his eyes, stomach lurching unpleasantly. Loose lips about to sink his battleship, good and proper. Why the hell had he mentioned Gavin? There was no bloody reason to bring the lad up whatsoever, and yet here he was feeling less stupid for being too honest than guilty for not being honest enough. Jimmy had been upset he'd kept such a huge thing from him. That thing that was so much less huge than, say, 'you're an angel and I'm the King of Hell.' Next to him, from beneath the mound of covers, a pitiful whimper articulated his thoughts precisely. Crowley's hand froze where it had been about to slide the ring off his finger and enable a swift magical recovery: if he couldn't come clean about all of his lies-by-omission, the least he could do was suffer in solidarity.  
  
In the end, after showers and aspirin, Crowley couldn't bear to watch Jimmy shiver and retch through his first hangover after all. Slipping the inhibitor momentarily from his finger, he'd muttered a charm under his breath, fingers carding through Jimmy's tousled hair. It had worked, to Crowley's slight panic, only up to a point - as if his self-imposed inhibitor, or perhaps the effect of the mirror, had lingered in his system. So Jimmy was no longer sullen and sick, but they were both still quiet, a little drained and groggy, curled up on the couch together, drifting in and out of sleep. Eventually Crowley felt Jimmy stir in his arms and struggle to a sitting position. "I need to use the bathroom." Crowley watched him pad from the room. Wriggled onto his back along the length of the chesterfield, patting his belly until Whiskers jumped lightly up and settled on top of him, purring as Crowley circled fingers in the soft fur at the scruff of his neck. Crowley yawned. He-  
-wobbled, unsteady, nearly losing his balance, as he realised he was suddenly standing, Whiskers scrambling panicked from his grasp and streaking away across a room that looked horribly familiar...  
  
Dean's eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, away from the scurrying cat who was desperately searching for a place to hide. The tabby bolted between Sam's legs and out the door. "What the hell?! Sam, don't you let that cat go in my room!"  
It would have been funny if it hadn't been really, really not funny at all - Crowley's eyes widened in fury as he watched Sam glance in confusion between him, Dean, and the doorway Whiskers had disappeared through. "Well don't just stand there looking as dumb as you are! You heard him, fetch that cat!"  
"Dude, you will wash all the furniture if you don't get that damn cat," Dean growled and turned back to Crowley. "Who the hell's cat is that, Crowley?"  
"You want me to just leave you, with him - are you sure?" Sam eyed Crowley once more with a distinct air of mistrust.  
Crowley crossed his arms over his bare chest and raised his chin. "It's _my_ cat. And yes, Samantha, I think your brother and I are capable of courting unchaperoned at this stage of our relationship."  
Dean's eyes were running over Crowley, seeming to take everything in, including the bee-print pyjama bottoms. "He's in a god damn trap, Sammy. Don't worry," Dean said to his brother.  
"Five minutes." Sam let out a longsuffering sigh as he headed out into the corridor "Try not to, I don't know, kill each other."  
Dean turned to Crowley, "Your cat, huh? What's his name?"  
Crowley watched Denim Menace Junior leave with narrowed eyes. He looked back at Dean, chin still raised stubbornly. "Yes. My cat. His name's Stalin. Problem?"  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, bullshit. That's Whiskers!" he accused, stepping closer to the trap, a piece of paper clutched in his hand.  
Crowley couldn't help it; he faltered, stepping back in surprise rather than intimidation, the stupid invisible wall of that infernal trap buzzing at his back. How the blazes did Squirrel know that? Recovering himself, he plastered on his most disdainful sneer. "Diverting though this is, I'm sure you didn't interrupt my duvet day just to chat house-pets with me?" His gaze fell upon the paper being brandished under his nose. He had a bad feeling about this...  
"Oh no?" Dean pulled a picture out from his back pocket and showed it to Crowley. "Recognize that cat? It came with a letter from my _brother_."  
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Sam writes you letters? I know you're co-dependant, but that's a little much even for you two when you live in the same..." He glanced round at the austere room. "...subterranean supervillain lair?"  
Dean rolled his eyes. "No, my other _brother_. He had some things to say about you too.” Dean unfolded the paper and scanned it a moment before reading. "His name is Whiskers. It was a toss-up between that and Steve. I flipped a coin to decide." He looked back up, brow arched, "Sound familiar?"  
A feeling like anaesthetic, crawling and unpleasant started to flood up Crowley's spine. He widened his eyes, pulling a purposefully exaggerated innocent face, his tone laden with sarcasm. "Not in the slightest." Jimmy. Oh crap, Jimmy had written to his brothers. And now he was back at the house, tired and hungover and probably wondering where the hell Crowley had suddenly disappeared to and, "If that's _quite_ all, perhaps your handler could retrieve my pussy and you can both kindly allow me to take my leave and get on with my afterlife?"  
Dean rolled his eyes and looked back to the paper, eyes scanning a little bit more. "'Now on to the best part (and the customer I told you about). You know him actually, Dean. You spent some time with him once. He's very fond of that time. I actually found out because he has a picture of the two of you as his lock screen.'" Dean looked up, "Awkward, by the way."  
Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Sounds charming. You and he must have been quite the jolly amigos. Fail to see what it has to do with yours truly. Now if you," Crowley raised his voice, temper flaring, "DON’T MIND, I HAVE PLACES TO _BE_."  
Dean just rolled his eyes again, seemingly unaffected by the Crowley's irritation. "'His name is Fergus Crowley, and I am in love with him.'" His eyes scanned, skipping over parts. "'The way he talks to me: 'I can see galaxies in your eyes.' I believe word is 'swoon'.'" Dean pretended to gag. "I was impressed with how he treated me when I told him I'd never been with a man. He was so gentle, until I didn't want him to be.'" He groaned, and shoved the paper in his pocket. "What the fuck, Crowley?!"  
"Bollocks." He could just keep denying it, but at this point it was pretty much the missive equivalent of his elegantly manicured hand in the cookie jar. And besides... 'I am in love with him'… even in this most unwelcome of situations, Crowley couldn't contain a pleased little smile. He turned it into a smirk. "Well, what can I say, love? You know it yourself, I'm just irresistible."  
Dean rolled his eyes, looking away briefly. "No, I don't," he grumbled and then looked back, "What the hell are you playing at?"  
"Short memory, sailor." Crowley eyed him. Watching Dean squirm was mildly gratifying, but the clock was ticking. "He wrote to you. I didn't see that coming. How for the love of sin did he manage that - didn't notice a letterbox in your fortress door."  
Dean leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. "PO box. Not important. What the hell, dude? What are you doing to him?"  
" _Doing_ to him?" A flare of temper spiked in Crowley's gut. "What am _I_ doing to him? How about protecting him, you numbskull! Watching over him, or I would be if you'd just let me out of this bloody trap!"  
"Oh, you're _protecting_ him? You're protecting the _angel_?" Dean glared hard at Crowley. "Then why the hell does he think he's Jimmy Novak?"  
Crowley screwed his eyes shut in irritation, pinched the bridge of his nose; he was sure he was getting an idiocy-induced migraine. "That, hot-shot, is what I am _trying_ to find out."  
"Oh yeah? You're trying to find out while screwing him, huh?" Dean's brows were raised high. "How's that goin' for you?"  
All these messy emotions were not conducive to menacing the enemy-cum-ex. Crowley made a show of pointedly hitching up his borrowed pyjama pants where they'd started to ride a little low. "For your information, very well indeed. A-plus. Matinee and evening performances, daily."  
Dean groaned. "That's disgusting, and what the hell is up with the pants? Bees, dude? Seriously?" The look on his face was clearly judgemental.  
"Not my pants, darling." Satisfying as it was to flaunt this particular conquest, a chill was spreading through him that was more than the actual chill that made his bare toes curl against the concrete floor. Anxiety. Playing it cool was proving much harder when he genuinely cared about something other than his own delightful hide. "Did you really drag me here just to discuss my Olympic-standard sex life?" He raised his voice, "Any sign of my cat yet, Collosus?"  
"Jesus, Crowley, no. I don't want to talk about your damn sex life," Dean growled, "I want to know where the hell Castiel is and what you're doing to him."  
"Castiel is..." Crowley bit his lower lip. Folded his arms again. _Gone_? "Somewhere inside his own head, is my best guess. Jimmy is... safe. Although," he shot Dean a savage glare, "he'd be a damn sight safer if you'd let me get back to him."  
Dean scoffed at that. "Right, and I should just trust you to take care of him. Because you've never wanted to kill the guy or anything."  
"Oh, believe me, Squirrel, I wanted to kill him. I was quite prepared to. It's why I tracked him down." Crowley padded to the very edge of the trap, toes touching the painted lines. "But then I found him and... Let's just say that he's fortunate that I don't bear grudges. Things have changed. Significantly. And the way I see it, you have no choice but to trust me if you value Castiel's safety and peace of mind."  
"Or..." Dean slipped his hands in his pockets, walking casually about the room. "You could tell me where he is and we could go make sure he's safe before we let you go."  
Of course he'd say that. Crowley cocked his head, pursing his lips. "Not going to happen, pudding. Keep me here as long as you like: it's only your precious angel you're hurting."  
Dean clenched his jaw at that and turned, heading out of the room, the door closed behind him so Crowley was left in complete darkness.  
  
The quiet was deafening. Crowley swallowed down the rising bubble of panic that pushed up inside him, heard the loud click of his own tight throat. _Stop. Relax. Think._ All that crowded his mind was memories of the last time he'd been here, of countless days in the dark with only his own mind for company, the weight of shackles and collar pinning him. His right hand found the spell ring and pulled it hurriedly off, but it made not a blind bit of difference when he was stuck in the trap they'd summoned him into. Crowley sighed, slipping the ring back on. It was getting really cold in here: he wrapped his arms around his ribs. He thought of the warmth of Jimmy's hands and had to push down the terrified feeling again. They'd kept him incarcerated here for months last time. _Months_. How could he explain that? What would Jimmy be feeling? Was he looking for him, right at this moment? Calling his name through the empty house? Crowley's chest felt tight, a horrible, unfamiliar unplaceable feeling. His legs felt about to give way beneath him, the temptation to sit down on the hard cold floor almost irresistible. Balling his hands into fists, he held them determinedly at his sides, raising his head and straightening his back. "Squirrel!" His most imperious tone. "This is a little beneath both of us, don't you think?" No answer. Crowley swallowed, fists tightening. "Dean? Sam?" He cleared his throat. "How about we make a deal?"  


It was about fifteen minutes before Dean came back. He opened the door slowly and leaned against the doorframe, flipping the light on with no warning. "Change your mind yet?"  
Crowley pulled himself up sharply from where he'd been slouching, squinting against the sudden glare of light. "The real question is, have you?"  
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not sending you back to Cas not knowing what the hell's going on. So I can leave you again - longer this time.'  
"Wait-" Crowley stalled his hand from where it instinctively went to reach out. His teeth clenched on the words, gritting them out. "I'm sure that we can come to some... mutually beneficial agreement, vis a vis the angel."  
"Spit it out, Crowley," Dean snapped, "There's a return address. I can start there and leave you here."  
Shit. _Shit._ Crowley drew in a careful breath. Aimed for nonchalant and almost got there. "That so? Are you certain that's still where he is?" It could be the flat. It could be the house. _Bloody_ angels. "I have a suggestion. Neutral ground. We arrange a meeting. Little family reunion: I'm sure Jimmy would be overjoyed. But you _have_ to let me go to him."  
Dean gave a tiny shrug at the question. At the suggestion he narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you'll agree?"  
"Because I may be a liar but I don't go back on my word. Which I am giving you, now." Crowley was getting impatient, his anxiety making the urge to babble too strong. "Now will you let me out? I've been gone too long, he'll be wondering where I am."  
Dean hesitated a moment. "You call by the end of the day or I'll bring you right back here."  
Letting him off easy. Almost too easy... Crowley blinked. "Cross my heart, etcetera." Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he considered a moment. "This goes both ways though. I get him to call you. There has to be ground rules."  
Dean cocked a brow at that. "Ground rules? What ground rules?"  
Crowley licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "He... well, you've read the letter, champ. He's not in his right mind. He doesn't know who he is, _what_ he is, and for the time being at least, it needs to stay that way. If I get him to call you, you play nicely along with his little fantasy. Capisce?"  
Dean was clearly still hesitant, eyes suspicious. He leaned against the wall, not speaking for a moment. Then, "We're gonna check in on him, and you're gonna tell us whenever you learn something new."  
Pressing his lips together, Crowley's brows drew down in a frown. Of course he'd known it couldn't last forever. He'd just not been prepared for it to be over so soon... There could be other solutions. He could plan. Go into hiding. Something. _Anything_. "Alright. We have a deal." He raised an eyebrow. "Smooch for old time's sake?"  
Dean snorted at that and rolled his eyes, pointedly not looking at Crowley. "Somehow think my 'brother' wouldn't like that."  
Crowley chuckled, a low purr. Seeing Winchester senior uncomfortable made him feel a little more of his usual control again. "Pity. Fond memories of the ol' Black Spur, darling. Double the pleasure, triple the fun."  
Dean just gave a little huff and stepped forward, using his foot to scuff a bit of the devil's trap. "Get lost."  
Crowley's smirk resurfaced in earnest for the first time since he'd been summoned. Stepping forward out of the confines of the trap, he slid the ring off his little finger, in one smooth gesture snapped his fingers, in a blink redressed immaculately in shirt and suit. He dropped the ring into his breast pocket and straightened his tie. "Gladly. One little thing - " He crossed his arms, cocking his head.  
Dean swallowed hard, clearly fighting just to keep looking Crowley in the eye. "Yeah? What's that?"  
Eyes half-lidded, Crowley leaned forward, raising slightly on tiptoe so he could murmur into Dean's ear, feeling him flinch slightly away. "Where's... my... bloody... _cat_?"  
"Damn cat," Dean muttered and stumbled a bit as he made his way to the door. He poked his head out the door, yelling to his brother. "Sam, where's the god damn cat?"  
The reply was muffled but Crowley could just about make out Moose's slightly pissy tone. "OK, don't freak out, but I can't find it. I think it might have got down to the garage."  
Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do I have to do every little thing myself?" In a blink he'd scanned the building, retrieved a glowering Whiskers from beneath a bed that he really, really hoped was Dean's, and reappeared back in the centre of the broken trap. He cleared his throat, pointedly.  
Dean turned around and saw Crowley holding the cat which he glared hard at. "Call," he said firmly. Then, "Get the hell out of here."  
It was hard to appear suave whilst trying to hold down a wriggling feline, but Crowley just about managed a little wave. "Toodles, love. Speak later. Kisses."

 

The last thing he saw was Dean's face screwed up in temper before he materialised knee deep in the long grass at the back of the house. "You little- ugh." He watched as Whiskers streaked in through the flap in the back door, hand clamped over the welling red scratches on the back of one wrist. How long had he been away? Fishing in his pocket he retrieved the ring. When he snuck back into the sitting room, he was barefoot again, dressed only in Jimmy's borrowed pyjama pants.  
"Fergus?!" Jimmy called. He could be heard rushing down the stairs and then he was at the door. "Where did you disappear to?!" His eyes were wide and red, cheeks tear stained, body trembling.  
That echoing feeling was back in Crowley's gut. The tell-tale thickening in his throat. The Winchesters knew, and this couldn't last, this beautiful, impossible thing he'd built on opportunity was already teetering and all he could think was this is _so_ unfair.  
"Come here." His voice sounded rough. He crossed the room and wrapped Jimmy tight in his arms, reaching up to wipe away a blur of tears. "Hey. Nothing's worth those."  
Jimmy's arms wrapped tight around Crowley, clinging tightly to him. "You scared me. I thought something awful happened to you."  
"Why on earth would you think that?" Crowley's nose pressed into Jimmy's hair, where his head lay bowed against Crowley's shoulder. Breathed in the comforting home-scent. Why _would_ he think that? Except for the deep-down residual echo of what they both were, resounding even in the dream they'd created.  
"You disappeared for half an hour," Jimmy whimpered, fingers fisted in the back of Crowley's shirt. "What was there to think other than something bad happened to you? What were you _doing_?"  
Holding up his hand, Crowley displayed the row of cat scratches on his wrist. "Cat bolted. I was trying to find him. Ended up out back." It was technically the truth, so why did it suddenly feel bad being creative? "Then - you'll like this," his hands rubbed soothingly, up and down across Jimmy's broad shoulders. "I got side-tracked talking to Dean."  
"Oh." Jimmy seemed to be relaxing a little bit, though he still didn't let go of Crowley. He looked up quickly, blinking. "Dean? What do you mean? Why? How?"  
Crowley's hands moved to his lower back, circling gently through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "He got a letter you sent him?" Crowley cleared his throat. "He'd lost your number. Called me to ask you to call him. This evening. Wants a catch up."  
Jimmy tipped his head curiously. "Dean..." He smiled fondly and stroked Crowley's arms. "Thank you for passing on the messages, love."  
"Got his number. In case it's different from what you have," Crowley said hurriedly. That smile. He'd never seen Castiel smile like that. He couldn't imagine giving it up. _Jimmy_ having to give it up, this blissful ignorance. "I love you, you know. I'll never leave you, for as long as you want me."  
"Thank you." Jimmy tipped his head to the side slightly at the words, reaching up to cup Crowley's cheek. "I love you too. And I never want you to leave me."  
"That's all I ever want to hear, angel." Crowley said.  
Jimmy leaned up, kissing Crowley's lips softly. "Are you alright?"  
_No_. _So very not._ Crowley let his hands drift lower, fingers playing with the back of Jimmy's waistband. "Yeah. A little tired. Seems I overestimated my capacity for depressants after all these years."  
Jimmy stroked his fingers gently through Crowley's hair. "Let's just cuddle on the couch then?" He smiled, taking his lover's hand and leading him to the living room.

  
Crowley let himself be led. Settled on the couch in the way that had grown so natural now, Jimmy curled up against him, head resting on Crowley's chest. This was hideous. Worse than the worst torment of Hell. Like waiting for the axe to drop. Note to self: new torture; give a soul everything it never knew it wanted, then take it away.  
Jimmy sighed softly, closing his eyes and relaxing against Crowley. He nuzzled his chest gently, tracing infinity symbols along his side.  
Looking down at him, Crowley bit his lip. Snaked a hand down the side of the couch to where he was certain he'd left his mobile. Yep. The lock-screen now was a selfie of him and Jimmy, sitting on the riverside bench where they'd first kissed. It was a little fuzzy, a little dark, but both of them were smiling so widely... Carefully, Crowley framed Jimmy's peaceful face in the viewfinder and snapped of a few shots.  
Jimmy smiled at the sound of the clicks and stroked Crowley's side gently. "You're so sweet," he murmured.  
"I take them of you when you're drooling into the pillows, too." Crowley's voice was low, amused despite himself. "Blackmail material, darling. Am I still sweet?" He leaned to press a kiss on the top of Jimmy's tousled dark head.  
Jimmy let out a surprised laugh at that. "Mm... It's not blackmail material. You think I'm beautiful even when I'm drooling."  
"Ah. You got me, kitten. I do." _And I want to remember every detail._ "Although maybe when you're a little less sleepy, you might let me take some real blackmail-worthy shots of you..?"  
Jimmy looked up at that, smirking a little bit. "Oh?" He licked his lips, hand coming to Crowley's chest. "You might be able to convince me of that."  
"Oh yes? I can be very persuasive." Crowley's hand moved lower, fingers tracing one elegant hipbone.  
Jimmy made a soft noise at the touch, leaning up to kiss Crowley tenderly. "Mmm... I know," he said with amusement.  
"Fancy moving it to my studio, or are you happy here on the casting couch?" Crowley hid a smile against Jimmy's shoulder as he tugged on the drawstring of his pants.  
Jimmy laughed softly at that. "You're a very naughty photographer," he murmured, nosing Crowley's neck. "Do you touch all your models this way?"  
"What way?" Crowley raised his eyebrows innocently. "I'm just helping you with your costume, love."  
Jimmy bit his lip, clearly fighting a smile. "Are you generally lying down with your model on top of you while helping with their costumes?"  
"Oh absolutely. Every time." Crowley deadpanned.  
That got him a pout. "I thought I was your favorite," Jimmy said, eyes big.  
"What, isn't this the way you're supposed to prepare for a photoshoot?"  
Jimmy hummed, nosing Crowley's neck. "I suppose getting the model hard is helpful. It's more flattering for the pictures."  
"Don't mince your words, do you, kitten?" Crowley licked his lips, hand slipping inside Jimmy's pyjama pants and moving lower, around the soft curve of his arse, pulling him closer. "And there I was, being so professional, too."  
Jimmy made a soft noise of pleasure, sliding his fingers through the hair on Crowley's chest, lips brushing along his neck. "I thought this _was_ professional."  
"Low standards. I like that in a guy." Crowley shivered at that touch, lazy throb of heat starting up low in his belly. Turning his head he caught Jimmy's mouth with his own, tongue tracing his full lower lip, teasing.  
"Not low enough to not be jealous of your other models," Jimmy whispered. He parted his lips and flicked his tongue out over Crowley's, making a soft noise of pleasure.  
_Damn it if that angel didn't know just how to press all his buttons._ Crowley groaned into their kiss, their still-clothed erections rubbing together, his hands cupping Jimmy's arse guiding them. He shouldn't be so pleased that Jimmy was possessive, but, "Jealous, pet? Why would you be jealous?"  
Jimmy moaned in pleasure, working his hips just the way Crowley wanted him to. "Because I don't want you touching other people this way," he whispered, "I want you to be all mine."  
"Mmmmm." The sharp buzz of stubble beneath Crowley's lips. Skin salt-sweet, the jump of Jimmy's Adam's apple beneath his tongue. He wanted to remember it all. "All yours. Nobody else's, ever again." Steadying with hands around his waist, Crowley eased Jimmy onto his back along the length of the chesterfield, kneeling above him.  
Jimmy's breath shook as he was pushed onto his back. He pressed his thighs against Crowley's hips, hands sliding up his back. "Mine," he agreed, "My sexy, beautiful man."  
It still felt like a trick, the sincerity unfamiliar. Oh sure, Crowley was well used to being told he was sexy, just never with such a depth of feeling that it made him feel two inches tall and invincible all at once. "Hold that pose."  
Jimmy laughed softly at that, but did as he was told, staying as he was and gazing up at Crowley adoringly.  
"God, you're gorgeous." The screen of Crowley's phone framed him, arms draped above his head, perfect muscle tone shadowed softly. Lips slightly parted and eyes half lidded, full of love. Crowley tilted his head, one finger hooking beneath Jimmy's waistband and freeing his dick, before aiming the camera again.  
Jimmy smiled softly. When Crowley pulled his cock out, he flushed and turned his head. He peeked up through his lashes, expression shy, and Crowley bit back a low growl: the more coy the angel was, the hotter it stoked his fires. Made it hard to be gentle as he tugged his pyjama pants down and off. "Spread your legs for me. Do you like being admired, angel?"  
Jimmy raised his hips up to help Crowley get his pants off. His legs fell open as he blushed a little more darkly. "Yes," he admitted shyly.  
"Dear sin, you drive me crazy." Crowley's fist closed around his own straining cock, squeezing himself through soft jersey. He wet his lips with the point of his tongue as he aimed the camera. "Touch yourself for me."  
Jimmy shivered when Crowley touched himself. Wrapped his fingers around his own cock, stroking slowly. His breath shook, bottom lip still caught between his teeth.  
"Perfect creature." Crowley’s voice was breaking around the words. "Look at you, all wet already. I could watch you forever." Flipping down the waistband of his own pants, Crowley ran a slow hand up his length, squeezed. "Here's one for you." Holding his phone up, he switched to front cam, the jarring visual of his own vessel gazing back at him, cock in hand beneath the strong curve of his gut. The camera snapped, once, twice, as he put on a show. "I'll send them to you. When you least expect it."  
Jimmy let out a soft moan when he saw Crowley's cock. His own hips bucked, cock leaking in his hand. "Fuck," he breathed, then laughed. "So, while I'm at work?"  
"Bingo." Crowley couldn't stop his smile. The burst of affection in his chest. "Why haven't we done this already? The fun I could have dressing you up, darling."  
Jimmy bit his lower lip, squirming. "How would you dress me up?"  
Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, hand squeezing hard around his jerking cock. The thought immediately crowded into his head : _I'd dress you up all neat and pristine, suit and tie, that goddamn trench-coat. Then I'd take you apart, open shirt and mussed hair and trousers round your ankles, panting for the camera..._ Crowley swallowed with difficulty. _Best not_. When he spoke again his voice was ragged.  
"Those panties of yours were a good start. More of that, I think. Maybe underneath a frilly little skirt that I can flip up. Slip my hand beneath. Your arse does look delectable in tight lace, you know. When you're bending over for me. Pale blue, I think; you're a sweet little thing, aren't you? Pale blue satin with a little pompom tail."  
Jimmy's cock gave a noticeable little twitch and he squeezed the base gently. "Oh... Oh, yes. Please. That would feel so nice."  
"That what tickles you, sweetheart? How it feels?" Oh lord how he wanted to bend down and kiss him, touch and taste and _take_ \- but just looking was a rare treat in its own way. "What do you like best? Satin, is it? Lace?" His lips quirked, lopsided smile, "Rubber?"  
"That's part of it," Jimmy said shyly. He turned his head away, blushing once more. When Crowley said ‘rubber’ his eyes widened slightly. "I, um...Have only tried lace."  
That expression didn't go unnoticed. "Look at me. Don't hide your face." Crowley's hand picked up pace as that wide blue gaze flicked back to meet his once more. His voice lowered, silky. "Maybe not such a sweet thing, after all. You're just aching to be corrupted, aren't you? You'd be game for anything. Let me put you in a collar, hrm? Little black kitty ears and matching stockings." He choked back a groan, picturing it: custom latex and nice shiny chrome, just how he liked it.  
Jimmy's cheeks remained flushed and he gave a little whine. His legs spread a little bit further apart. "I'd really be your kitten then," he whispered.  
"Would you like that, sweetheart? Sitting on my lap and letting my pet you? I could put a little bell on your collar so I’d know when you were..." Crowley's lips curled in a smirk, " _coming_."  
Jimmy moaned softly, bringing a hand down to roll his balls gently in his hand. "Yes," he breathed, "Fuck...Yes."  
Oh crikey. He has to - Crowley fumbles the phone he's still holding and snaps off another couple of slightly blurry yet beautifully pornographic shots. It's getting harder to resist touching him, but the view is just so exquisite... Jimmy tossed his head back for one of the pictures, putting on a show for him. "As much as I'd love to get a money shot..." Damn it... being human-adjacent involved a lot more breathlessness than Crowley remembered... "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my hands off you."  
Jimmy was breathless as well and he nodded quickly. "Please. Touch me. I want you so badly."  
No need to tell him twice. Crowley tossed his phone onto the carpet. Bracing hands either side of Jimmy's shoulders he fitted between his spread thighs, rutting his cock against Jimmy's, crushing their mouths together, hungry. Jimmy's hands slid up Crowley's back, fingers pushing into his hair and tugging gently. He kissed him desperately, hips jerking up, slick friction between them. Crowley groaned against his lips, sucking on his tongue. They'd barely touched and he was close already. Shifting his weight to his left arm, braced against the arm of the couch, he reached between them with his right, taking both of them in hand, stroking, slippery heat.  
Jimmy gasped in pleasure, bucking his hips. Hands slid down Crowley's back, fingers digging in, nails clawing at his skin. "Oh, Fergus. Fuck!"  
That edge of pain when he was teetering on human: there was nothing like it; certainly nothing his demon self could compare. The purity. The thought struck him, of tables turned, of Jimmy commanding him in Castiel's authoritative tone, his mortal skin alight with almost-pain, and then Crowley was spilling into his own fist with a surprised yelp.  
Jimmy let out a loud moan of pleasure, nails dragging slowly along Crowley's back. His hips jerked and soon he was coming with a cry of pleasure as Crowley eased them both, shuddering, through the aftershocks. His hand slowed, stilled, still cradling them both together as he rested his sweat-damp forehead against Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy's chest was heaving, perspiration-slick. He clung tightly to Crowley, panting. "I love you," he whispered, "So much."  
Eyes tight closed, Crowley's lips grazed Jimmy's neck, just behind his ear. "I'll never tire of hearing that," -let this last forever, "I want this. Forever."  
He could feel Jimmy's smile against his temple, lips brushing along it. "You'll have it forever," he murmured.  
The effort of keeping his eyes closed was pulling Crowley's face into a frown, hidden in the crook of Jimmy's neck. _One day you'll hate me. And I won't be able to change your mind._ "I know, angel. Nothing can tear us apart," Crowley said, pressing a shaky kiss to Jimmy's throat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit starts to get real.
> 
> A very awkward phone call, followed by a very awkward 'family' dinner, and Crowley is running out of options.

They were sitting side by side on the couch as Jimmy stared down at his phone. He could feel Crowley's eyes on him. It'd been so long since they talked. He couldn't help feeling a bit nervous. It was okay though, this was Dean. He typed in the number and pressed ‘call’, listening to the dialtone.

"Yo." After a few rings, the familiar voice on the other end of the line answered brusquely. Jimmy reached out to take Crowley’s hand, feeling him shift closer. "Ca-" the line went silent for a moment. From far away he heard Dean clear his throat quietly. When he spoke again it was the cheerful voice Jimmy always remembered. "Can't believe it's you, man- it's been so long."

Jimmy smiled, squeezing Crowley's hand. "Of course it's me. Fergus told me you wanted me to call. Though _I_ wanted to. It has been too long."

"Fergus." The way Dean said his name sounded a little... strange, but Jimmy didn't think much of it. "Right. Yeah. I was kinda surprised to read you guys had... met." He paused again. "Dude... Are you doin' alright? I mean, really, are you..?"

Jimmy’s brow furrowed at the questions, confused. "I'm wonderful." He looked up at Crowley and smiled softly. "Very wonderful. I'm happy."

"And... Crowley?" Dean sounded so uncertain. "He treatin' you right? You can be honest with me man, you know." Another pause. "I'm your... brother."

"He's amazing." Jimmy rested his head lightly on Crowley's shoulder. "I can't tell you how good he is to me."

"You can tell him. You should definitely tell him." Crowley murmured against Jimmy's hair. Jimmy bit back a laugh and tapped his nose playfully. From the other end of the line, there was the sound of a muffled groan.

"Jesus, Crowley. I can't catch up with him alone?"

"Is something wrong, Dean?" Jimmy asked.

"Wrong?" Dean gave a short laugh. "Why the hell would anything be wrong? I'm here. You're there... with Crowley... Nah, man, everything's just A-OK the way I see it."

Jimmy felt Crowley smile against his hair. Place a quick kiss to his forehead. Dean said, "So, where exactly _is_ 'there', anyway? Whereabouts you based these days?"

Jimmy closed his eyes and lightly nuzzled Crowley, snuggling in closer to him. He loved this, being curled up against his lover, talking to his brother. "Just outside Kerney, Nebraska. I moved since I wrote you. Apologies."

Next to him, Crowley made the tiniest little choked noise. Jimmy glanced at him, but when he didn’t seem upset he assumed it must have been nothing. Dean’s voice on the end of the line replied, "You got an address there, buddy? Just, me and Sam might be headed out that way-"

"We'd love to take you boys out for dinner in town." Crowley interrupted, leaning closer to the phone handset. "Wouldn't we, Jimmy?"

"Yes, we'd love that. I can text you the address after we disconnect."

Was it his imagination, or did Crowley look a little anxious? Dean on the other hand, sounded relieved. "Good. Yeah, good plan. Me and Sammy, we miss you so much, man. It's good to know you're okay. But it'd be even better to see you. How soon can you be free?"

Jimmy stroked Crowley's arm gently. He was probably just anxious about seeing his lover's brothers now that they were an item. He smiled, pleased that Dean missed him. "I miss you too. I don't work tomorrow night."

"That's quite soon, love," Crowley started, but Dean interrupted him.

"Perfect. Just gimme your zip code-"

"No," Crowley said.

Jimmy frowned, looking up at Crowley with furrowed brows. "Just a moment, Dean." He put his phone on mute and looked to Crowley. "What's the problem?"

Crowley sucked in his bottom lip, just briefly, frowning. "I just think neutral territory might be best to start with, that's all. You know."

Jimmy frowned a little. "Why? They're my brothers. I don't understand."

Crowley's expression suggested he was weighing something up in his mind. "If things turn out... Awkward... I'd rather they turned out awkward on neutral ground. You know I have a certain amount of history with your brother... I suspect he thinks I'm not good enough for you. I want him to see that I'm treating you well."

The furrow in Jimmy's brow deepened. He didn't like the idea of things potentially turning out awkward, but the mention of their history... His stomach twisted a little and he sighed before unmuting the phone. "Dean? Can we meet somewhere for dinner? Then perhaps you and Sam could come back and see our house."

"Sure." Dean drew in an audible breath. "Sounds great. Tomorrow, yeah. Seven? You wanna text me where?"

"That sounds wonderful," Jimmy said happily, excited to see his brothers. "We'll talk and I'll text you as soon as we've decided.'

"Yeah, you better." Dean gave a forced-sounding laugh. Why was everyone acting so weird? "Sammy can't wait to see you again either. He's right here, you wanna talk to him?"

Maybe Sam would be normal. "Yes, please."

"See you tomorrow, then. Don't let us down, now." With those parting words, there was the sound of a handset being passed over. Some muffled muttering that sounded none-too-content. Then Sam's voice.

"Hey. Jimmy? How are you?"

"Sam," he said brightly, "I'm very well. How are you?"

"Good. I'm good. It's, ah, good to hear your voice."

"Good," Jimmy said slowly, finding the use of the word several times odd. "It's good to hear yours as well. It seems we'll be having dinner tomorrow night."

"Yeah. Yeah, looking forward to it. It's been a while, hey? Listen - don't mind Dean, you know how he gets." From the background Jimmy heard a noise of protest and a faint 'how _you_ get, bitch!' "He's just, you know... It kinda took us by surprise, hearing you're with... a guy. Not that we're not a hundred percent cool with it," he added, quickly, accompanied by an indistinct noise of disgust from Dean.

Jimmy's eyes widened slightly. "He most certainly should be. He has no room to be upset with me for liking men."

"No, no - he's totally _fine_ with it," the emphasis on 'fine' sounded like it was mostly for Dean's benefit. "It's just new, that's all. And you know, with it being someone we - ah, he - knows. It's just... new." Sam trailed off a little apologetically.

 _We?_ Jimmy glanced at Crowley. He'd question that later. "As long as neither of you have a problem with it..."

"No." Sam said quickly. "We're just happy you're happy. Dean's just being protective elder brother, you know what he's like."

Jimmy furrowed his brow at that. Now they were just being weird. "I'm the oldest brother...”

A pause. "You're, yeah, I mean, he's... my... elder brother. You know what I mean." No, Jimmy didn't know what he meant. Sam was babbling. It was familiar, yet... "So. What are you up to? Today? We got so much to catch up. What's been going on with you?"

"Today I'm... nursing a hangover. I said most of what's going on in my letter, though I live with Fergus now."

"A... hangover?" Sam sounded genuinely surprised. "Since when do you get hungover?" Was that a hint of actual concern in his tone? In the background, Dean's voice buzzed. Next to him, Crowley shifted around on the couch, rearranging himself so he was lying with his head in Jimmy's lap, looking up at him intently.

"I never have," Jimmy replied easily, reaching down to run his fingers gently through Crowley's hair. "What we had last night was strong. Fergus has a hangover as well."

"Wow, that's - what were you drinking?"

"Silvovitz, if I'm remembering correctly," Jimmy answered, looking at Crowley questioningly.

Crowley nodded his head in Jimmy's lap. "Slivovitz," he amended. Then, raising his voice, "And a couple of nice fat joints of Crinkle Pants." Jimmy narrowed his eyes at Crowley, not pleased that he'd mentioned that.

'-hell is that little Limey mook-' Sam clearly cupped his hand around the mouthpiece, muting Dean's sudden background rant. "Ohhh-Kay. Well, I guess we should leave you guys to ah… rest. We'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. We'll text Dean where to meet us."

"Okay then. Jimmy... look after yourself."

"I'll... do that. Have a good night, Sam." Jimmy hung the phone up and lightly swatted Crowley's arm. "They didn't need to know we broke the law."

Crowley pulled an innocent face. "You're a big boy, Peter Pan. What, do they still think you sing in the church choir, too?"

"Don't be rude," Jimmy complained, pushing his fingers through Crowley's hair. "You're just all acting very strange and I don't want things to be worse."

Crowley reached up with one hand, tracing Jimmy's jawline carefully. "I don't want them to take you away. Back to your... family home."

Jimmy leaned into Crowley's touch, nuzzling him gently. "That's a ridiculous concept. I would never leave you," he whispered.

"I know you miss them. I know Dean Winchester. They'll want to whisk you away from me. Back to the," the edge to his voice roughened, "family business." Crowley crossed his hands on his chest, looking up at Jimmy. "But I'm not going to let them. Do you know, I can see right up your nose from here?"

Jimmy opened his mouth to respond and then rolled his eyes. "Fergus," he complained, covering the man's eyes.

"What?" Crowley grinned, tugging at Jimmy's hands, "don't block my view, I was about to achieve enlightenment!"

Jimmy rested his head on the back of the couch so that when Crowley got his hands away he still couldn't see.

"Ah well. No more portal into the mysteries of the universe," Crowley murmured. He pulled Jimmy's hand back, brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "Still a rather ravishing view, though."

Jimmy made a pleased noise at the kisses, closing his eyes. "I'm yours," he murmured, "Always."

"Always," Crowley repeated, quietly. Earnestly. "Maybe we should get an early night. Sounds like it's going to be a big day tomorrow."

 

Jimmy and Crowley sat side by side in a booth at a restaurant. It wasn't as fancy as their first date, but wasn't a diner. Jimmy held Crowley's hand tight under the table, oddly nervous about seeing his brothers after so long. Crowley was being unusually quiet. When Jimmy felt his hand squeeze tighter, he followed Crowley's gaze to where two familiar figures had just entered the door at the far end of the restaurant.

Jimmy took a deep breath as the men approached. He slowly let go of Crowley’s hand and got to his feet. "Sam, Dean," he said happily, pulling the taller man into a hug.

"It's good to see you." Sam smiled broadly, returning the embrace.

"Yeah, buddy." Dean clapped Jimmy somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder and sat hurriedly, immediately reaching for the menu card. Jimmy looked at Dean a little sadly, displeased at not receiving a proper hug.

Crowley hadn't stood to greet them.

"Hi, Crowley," Sam said, somewhat familiarly for a first meeting. Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Sam... Dean."

Jimmy slipped back into the booth next to Crowley, taking his hand once more. "How was the drive?"

"Good, yeah." Sam said, enthusiastically. Dean glanced up from the menu and gave a quick nod of confirmation, pulling a face at Sam's glare. At Jimmy's side, Crowley rolled his eyes. "I mean, lucky you're just one state over. We can visit more often. You could come visit us."

Jimmy nodded slowly in agreement, fidgeting a little bit. Dean wasn't happy to be here. Was it because of his history with Crowley? "That would be nice," he said quietly, glancing at Dean anxiously.

"So... What's the food like in this place?" Sam asked brightly, picking up another menu. He was trying. Really _obviously_ trying.

"It's good," Jimmy said, trying not to look as confused and upset as he felt. He glanced at Crowley, held his hand more tightly, and looked back over to Dean. "The cheeseburgers are excellent. I think you'll like them."

"I dunno. He's picky." Sam attempted a laugh. Another meaningful glance from Dean and he fell silent. "So, ah. How's work?"

Jimmy sighed, shoulders slumping. Dean hadn't seemed so mad at him over the phone. "It's fine," he mumbled, looking at the menu.

"Bar work, right? That's how you guys met?"

"Yes. He mistook me for someone," Jimmy replied, still not looking up. He was glad Sam didn't seem upset with him, but he'd always reacted more strongly to Dean's disapproval.

"Lemme guess..." Dean started, but Sam silenced him with a shake of his head.

Jimmy looked up when Dean spoke, brows furrowed. "It was Castiel. Someone he told me you know as well. I've... heard you talk to him." He shifted anxiously at that, hoping when he heard it wouldn't be questioned.

"Yeah, because I'll tell you what, man, you are the spitting image of the guy." Dean sounded upset.

"Come now, Dean." Crowley's voice was smooth and reassuring at his side. "Superficial resemblance at best. You know, I don't think I once saw Cas crack a smile."

Jimmy felt himself growing more and more upset, eyes anxiously flicking between everybody. He gripped Crowley's hand hard. "D-did you not like Castiel either? I'm sorry that I look like him."

"I liked Cas just fine." Something in Dean's expression softened then as he looked Jimmy in the eye. "He was a good guy. The best. I miss him." Jimmy relaxed slightly when Dean's expression softened. He stared back at him, head tipping to the side curiously.

"I'm sure wherever he's got to, he's doing just peachy." Crowley cut in. His thumb stroked softly across Jimmy's hand as he narrowed his eyes at Dean.

"I'm sure he misses you too," Jimmy said gently then, to Crowley, "Don't be rude."

"Darling, I'm hardly being rude." Crowley's voice lowered and he leaned closer to Jimmy, but his eyes stayed focused on Dean. "I can be rude if you'd like me to be." Beneath the table his hand moved from Jimmy's hand to his knee. Opposite them, Sam let out a long sigh. Dean's eyes widened then narrowed, but before he could say anything Crowley interrupted. "Everyone ready to order? I think I spy our server."

Jimmy shifted a little bit in his seat, eyes flicking between the three men. He reached, briefly resting his hand over Dean's in an attempt to relax him before letting go, but blinked in confusion when his jumped at his touch like he'd been burnt. He hastily cleared his throat, as if covering for the way he'd flinched. "I'm ready."

"Yeah. Yeah me too."

Jimmy furrowed his brow, dropping his hand in his lap and looking down as the waiter was flagged. "I'll just have a burger, please," he said in a resigned voice.

"Make that twice." Dean said. His customary smile looked tight and forced.

Crowley's was smoother. When he and Sam had ordered too, he turned back to Sam and Dean, placed both hands, palms up on the tablecloth, and tilted his head. "Not that the small talk isn't delightful, boys, but there seems to be a certain disruptive pachyderm in this room that we really could do with addressing..."

Jimmy looked around uneasily, wondering what exactly it was that Crowley thought that they should be talking about. He furrowed his brow, worried his lower lip, tried to relax himself.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be, hotshot?" Dean leaned forward on his elbows.

"Dean-"

"No, Sammy, I wanna hear it. I think we should all hear it."

Jimmy looked anxiously at Crowley. The fact that he looked uncomfortable, a little unsure, was not comforting. He licked his lips, swallowed. "You don't think I'm good enough for your brother. I want to reassure you that I have nothing but his best interests in mind."

Jimmy took a slow, deep breath, and allowed himself to relax. He brought his hand to the table and slipped it into Crowley's, lacing their fingers together. "Is that true?" He looked between his brothers. "Do you think Fergus isn't good enough for me?"

"Well," Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back and crossing his arms. "If the shoe fits..."

"No. No of course we don't think that. What Dean meant to say," Sam and Dean exchanged what looked like a very meaningful look, "is that..." Sam's brow creased, and he looked again at Dean, with more than a little pleading in his gaze.

Dean glared stubbornly back. "I got nothing. Guy's a grade-A douche. Jimmy, you should come home with us."

Jimmy tightened his hold on Crowley's hand and narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Dean Winchester you have been little more than rude since the moment you sat down at this table. You've been rude to Crowley, you've been rude to me. You asked to see me and you've made me feel like you don't want to. What on earth could make you think that I would want to go home with you instead of staying with the man who makes me feel loved and wanted?"

"Whoah there, wait a minute, _I’ve_ been rude?" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as Dean's voice raised enough to make the couple at the next table turn round in surprise. "He's-"

"Excuse us a minute, love? Jimmy and I need a private word." And then Jimmy was being led by the hand away from their table and into the atrium of the restaurant, glaring at Dean all the while. He was fed up with the way his brother was acting. First being hurtful, then suggesting that he _leave_ Crowley? That was too far. He could still see Dean glowering at them through the glass doors, Sam's restraining hand on his shoulder, but they were well out of earshot. He turned back to Crowley.

"What," he snapped at Crowley, irritated at having been pulled away from defending them.

"Hey, hey..." Crowley held his hands up placatingly, his voice soft. "I'm not the enemy. And neither are your brothers." Jimmy narrowed his eyes, waiting for him to continue. "I just thought it maybe wise for us to take a breather before things got any more heated in there. You okay, angel?"

Jimmy took a shaky breath and reached out, placing his hands lightly on Crowley's chest, fingers curled lightly in his shirt. "I can't handle him asking me to leave you."

"He's your brother." Crowley pulled him close and Jimmy felt the stir of breath as he sighed against his neck, "He's just looking out for you. Jimmy, this might not be easy... I've told you about my... extra-curricular activities. I was hoping it wouldn't be brought up again. But Dean knew me at a very different time in my life and... part of me can't blame him for being concerned."

Jimmy slowly wrapped his arms around Crowley's middle and relaxed into his body, closing his eyes, breathing in his scent. He sighed softly against his skin. "It doesn't matter. I love you," he whispered, "I've never been happier. He can't ask me to leave."

He heard Crowley swallow. His voice lower, rougher. "I've never been happier either, love. And he won't ask you to leave. Even if he does - you're under no obligation to do as he says. Let me talk to him, hmmm? See if I can smooth things over?"

Jimmy held Crowley more tightly, letting out a soft sigh. "I won't," he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere. I love you." He pulled back and pressed his forehead to Crowley's before kissing his lips softly. "Okay."

"Come on." Crowley looked suddenly very sober. "Let's get back to Pinky and Perky."

Castiel kissed Crowley once more before taking his hand and stepping back inside. As they sat down he frowned a little, looking at his silverware. He looked over at Crowley. It was different. That was strange. As he glanced round at everyone else's place settings, Crowley gave a sudden loud cough at his side. Jimmy turned just in time to see him splutter, spitting water back into his glass.

"Alright there, Crowley?"

Crowley glared lasers at Dean's smug smile. "Fine. Just went down the wrong pipe. Dean, I think that you and I and Sam need a chat. Pronto."

Jimmy reached out to gently pat Crowley's back until the lingering coughing stopped. He touched his silverware, as if preparing to eat, then took a sip of his water. "I need the restroom," he said, getting to his feet.

 

***

 

Crowley watched him leave. He turned back to Dean, narrowing his eyes and hissing, "Holy water? What are we, twelve?"

 

Dean blinked innocently for a moment before he seemed unable to hold back his smirk. "Honest mix up. Why don't you try _Jimmy's_?"

 

Crowley pressed his lips together, a thin annoyed line. "Satisfied I've not passed on any demon cooties to our little angel, then?" He picked up his fork, turning it in his hand. "You know silver doesn't do the trick on me, don't you?"

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Had to make sure he wasn't a shifter," he replied with a little shrug. "So what the hell are you playing at here?"

 

Crowley set the fork down carefully. Kept his eyes focused on it as he spoke slowly. "Nobody is playing at anything, Squirrel. This is anything but a game. Do you know what's wrong with him? With his..." He gestured vaguely next to his head.

 

"Really?  'Cause it seems like you're playing house with a messed up angel," Dean growled, "And no, I don't know what the hell is wrong with him. Do you even care?"

 

"Do I care? Yes I bloody care!” Across the table, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Would I be here shooting the breeze with you two numbnuts if I didn't care?" Crowley leaned further across the table, his voice lowering. "I know as much as you do about his... condition. I have my people on it, but that's not the point. The one thing I know is, it seems that it's something he's done to himself. He gave himself a new life. He _wanted_ out.

And now you want to drag him right back in?"

 

Dean clenched his jaw tightly, leaning forward as well, shaking off Sam’s warning hand on his arm. "You think I want him in this life?” He hissed. “Hell no. I don't want anyone I care about in this life,” his gaze flicked briefly to Sam, as he continued, “but you know he wouldn't be with you if he remembered. You're taking advantage of him and you damn well know it, Crowley."

 

"You want him back because he's powerful." Crowley had all but physically flinched at Dean's words. "And let me tell you, sunshine, you have not the first idea about that. He can't control it. He doesn't know what he is. He needs me, to help him, to look out for him... Is any of this sinking in at all? I'm not taking advantage of him. I'm taking care of him. Which is more than you two ever did!"

 

“Crowley…” Sam started, but fell silent at Dean’s growl.

 

"Taking care of him by fucking him, huh? How's that workin' out for you? Just peachy, ain't it? Too bad it's not Cas that actually wants you. Too bad he doesn't know who the hell you are."

 

Crowley's voice was a venomous hiss. "He knows who I am. He knows who I am more than anybody else has in four centuries. And if you can drag your mind out of the gutter for five measly minutes... Don't you see how upset he is by this? He's lost his memory, not his faculties: we can play polite all day but only an idiot would fail to notice there's something going on. So I'm asking you - politely. Let. Him. Go. He's happy, for once in his life. I can keep him that way. Don't you dare ruin it for him, or I may _cease_ to be so _polite_."

 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure he knows who you are. Does he know what you do? Does he know you've tried to kill him? You ever think about the fact that we're his ‘brothers’ and you're nothing. You don't fit in this life, Crowley. Cas didn't want you to. You tell him or we will."

 

"He knows who I am. My past. _Our past_." Crowley indicated between himself and Dean, ignoring Dean’s sneer of distaste. Crowley swallowed. His face pale. "Of course he doesn't know about... Good god, he thinks you pair of goons are bloody pest controllers for sin's sake, do you think he'd believe that I'm King of Hell? That he's..." _An angel? A killer?_ "That's what he's chosen to forget. Far be it from me to take that choice away from him. And he might have cast you two as his brothers... Don't you think I haven't run through this over and over again? Perhaps he didn't want me in his life then. But he sure as hell does now. And I won't just let you take it all away from him."

 

Something in Dean's expression softened, almost _almost_ like sympathy. "This isn't right, Crowley. You know it's not. If he doesn't wanna be in the game, fine, but he should at least know who he is."

 

“You know he’s right, Crowley,” Sam echoed.

 

One of Crowley's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He chose his identity. Not me." His gaze lowered to the tablecloth in front of him. "And you can quit telling me what's right or wrong, right now. Wrong is destroying him all over again." His tone sharpened. "We've seen how well tearing down mental walls has worked in the past." He glanced at Sam.

 

Sam stiffened slightly beside Dean, but the elder responded quickly. "Not the same. It was blocking out torture," he shot back. "Look, it's simple. You tell him, or we do." At that moment his eyes flicked to behind Crowley and then Jimmy was approaching the table, sliding his phone into his pocket before slipping back into the booth.

 

The look Crowley shot Dean at Jimmy's return was pure panic. "No deal." Oh, the irony. Turning to Jimmy, he murmured, "Alright, pet?"

 

Jimmy tipped his head curiously. "I'm alright. What's the deal?"

 

"Apparently we don't have one," Dean said with a shrug, "Hey Jimmy, why don't you and I go for a walk after dinner. Let Sammy get to know your boyfriend a little better."

Crowley's eyes widened. "No. We have to get back." His hand reached for Jimmy's, held it desperately. His smile looked strangely weak. "If we're back any later than ten we'll be spending the next two days trying to figure out where Juliet left her dirty protest. And besides," he looked at Dean. "Jimmy and I have... things to talk about."

 

"I'm sure you do," Dean answered. As he went on he looked pointedly at Crowley. "Well, we're gonna stick around town for a few days, so Jimmy and I will have plenty of time to talk if we need to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shotgun wrote Jimmy, TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley. We shared Dean and Sam (ooer!)
> 
> Thank you so much if you're sticking with this fic. Hope that you're enjoying it and please feel free to leave a comment and chat storylines with us!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley decides to come clean. But it's not as easy as all that...

_Run_ was Crowley's first instinct.  
The rest of the meal had passed in prickly awkwardness, with the only real relief being Jimmy and Sam finally managing to strike up at least some superficial conversation about TV and books while Dean and Crowley pretended not to glower at one another across the condiments. They'd parted with, when Jimmy's back was turned, Dean pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Crowley. Ludicrous, but quite clear. Even Sam had rolled his eyes and elbowed Dean in the ribs. Crowley had blown him a kiss, but the grim set of Dean's face lingered in his memory. _You tell him, or I will._  
It would be possible to avoid them. Of course it would. Crowley hadn't reached his grand old age without being wily. A survivor. He prided himself on it. Except, never before had he had someone to lose.  
  
Sitting alone on his throne, Crowley mentally scrolled through his options. They seemed to range, as usual, from treachery to misery. One: he runs. Alone; he loses Jimmy. With Jimmy - well, either that involved kidnapping, or lying, or telling the truth. All options pointed towards the same conclusion: he loses Jimmy. Crowley sighed, fidgeting. Two: he stays. Jimmy finds out the truth, from either him or Dean, and Crowley would place a large bet on which would be the best option for everyone involved. He couldn't bear to see Winchester poison the angel against him, to convince him of his own ill-informed version of events. If anyone told Jimmy who he really was, it had to be Crowley. At least then he'd have the ghost of a chance to try to explain the reasons behind his actions. But... was it _right_ to tell him? The question was driving Crowley insane with misery and indecision. Castiel had made his own choice of a new life. And sure, he hadn't included Crowley in it, but.... surely what they had now counted for _something_? And surely taking away that choice from him was as bad if not worse than the lying by omission? Crowley had been doing all this to protect... what? Jimmy's feelings, his sanity? _Your own interests_ a little voice in the back of Crowley’s mind just had to keep piping up. Crowley didn't want to lose what they’d built. Could barely face the thought. But the nagging worry that he was keeping Castiel in the dark for his own selfish ends rather than for Jimmy's happiness... It ate at Crowley, a gnawing guilt inside. And - he turned the silver pinky ring over in his palm - he couldn't blame these feelings on the inhibitor charm. Hell, if he was honest, he couldn't even fully blame the mirror spell. He'd finally found happiness. And it seemed like Jimmy had, too. But if Jimmy knew the whole truth... Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, fist clenching around the ring. Whichever way he cut it, Jimmy was unlikely to ever forgive him for what he was. But in that one respect, Crowley suspected Squirrel was right. Jimmy deserved to know. Whether he'd believe him, whether he'd get his memory back, was another matter. But Crowley owed him the truth. It had always been borrowed time. It wasn't real. Jimmy - no matter how real the feelings in his heart, in whatever charred scraps remained of Crowley's - wasn't real. Crowley's lips pressed together, thinned to a grim line. Time to say goodbye.  
  
"Hello, darling." Crowley's voice sounded subdued even to his own ears as he entered the sitting room. He mustered all his willpower to smile as that dark head turned. Jimmy peeked his head up from where he'd been lying on the couch. He slowly shifted so he was kneeling, and held his arms out over the back. "Hi, love. What's the matter?"  
"Matter? Nothing." Crowley used to have such a flawless poker face. His acting was award-worthy. He'd fooled Cain, for pity's sake! Now... Well, now he was helpless to hide anything from Jimmy. "Dreadful day at work. I've missed you."  
Jimmy's expression was soft as he gestured for Crowley to approach him. When he did, Jimmy's fingers brushed gently through his hair and he kissed his cheek softly. "Come here, baby. What can I do for you?"  
Crowley closed his eyes. Whatever was clenching inside him, he'd not felt the like since his induction into Hell. It was unfamiliar. Unwelcome. He forced a smile. _Not long left. At least enjoy it while you can, you fool._ "Let me hold you? I've thought of nothing else all day."  
Jimmy pressed a tender kiss to Crowley's forehead and nodded before letting go, shifting on the couch so Crowley could join him. "You can always hold me," he said softly.  
"Hold you... and kiss you... and..." Crowley's hand slid around Jimmy's waist, found its way beneath his t-shirt. He pressed his lips against Jimmy's hair so his expression would be hidden as Jimmy wriggled, gasping laughter at the touch. "Did you miss me too, angel? Even when I menace you?"  
Jimmy snuggled up against Crowley, giggling and tipping his head up to kiss his lips softly. "Of course I missed you. I always miss you when you're gone."  
"Tell me you love me." Did he sound too desperate? His palm rested warm and heavy on Jimmy's belly. Felt the familiar rise and fall of his breathing.  
Jimmy looked up at Crowley and cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking over them gently. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you more than anything. Fergus."  
Crowley bit the inside of his cheek. Slid a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone. His voice rasped more than he'd like. "Once more with feeling?" He cocked an eyebrow, he hoped playfully, as he aimed the camera and tapped 'record'.  
Jimmy furrowed his brow, clearly concerned, but he did as he was told, looking into the camera as he spoke. "Fergus, I love you more than anything. Always."  
"Forever and then some?" What was he saying? It was worse than the most mawkish Lifetime drama. The camera shook in Crowley's hand. His other hand stroked the exposed stripe of tan skin at Jimmy's waist. "I love you, James." There. Evidence. Jimmy's face, the minutest flicker of expression in response, recorded as proof that the past months had really happened.  
"Forever and then some," Jimmy repeated softly, with a little smile. He grabbed the phone and turned it, aiming it at their faces as he leaned in to kiss Crowley's lips. Their dual grip on the phone slackened as Crowley leaned into him, helpless, chasing his lips and deepening the kiss with a groan. _One last time, just one last time, let’s go out with a good ol’ bang..._ no good. He couldn't do it. His hands either side of Jimmy's face, cradling gently, Crowley pulled back to look at him. Kiss-wet lips and three days-worth of stubble and that confused little line between his delicate brows. Those eyes, so trusting. Always so bloody trusting. Jimmy made a soft noise, pleasure and confusion, fingers sliding into Crowley's hair as he let him lead the kiss. His brow furrowed more as Crowley pulled away. "What's wrong?" This time it was a whisper, a desperate plea. "Fergus, this isn't just work. Something's bothering you. Talk to me."  
"You know I love you." Crowley hung his head, looking down at their twined fingers. "Only you. You're the only person I've ever really loved." His voice dropped, quieter. "Since I was alive."  
"I know you do," Jimmy whispered, the crease between his brows deepening. He searched his face, clearly worried. "Did something happen?"  
"Jimmy, I..." _I’ve never lied to you? But oh you have, Crowley, and by more than omission_. Crowley frowned, gripping the hand in his tighter. "I've told you so much about me. Things I've never told another soul. But I've not told you everything. Not because I wanted to keep anything from you," he added quickly. "Because I didn't think you'd believe me. I wanted to protect you, angel. From anything that could hurt you. But I don't know now if I have the right to do that." He looked up again, into Jimmy's eyes. "Would you rather know a painful truth, or live in blissful ignorance?"  
Jimmy swallowed hard, clearly anxious at this turn of conversation. He shifted nervously, rubbed the back of his neck. "I...I want to know everything about you."  
"Very well. Brace yourself, then." Crowley sighed. "I'm the King of Hell." He cast Jimmy an apologetic glance.  
Jimmy blinked, eyes narrowing briefly. Then he started laughing. "Does that make me the Queen of Hell?'  
"Now, there's a thought." Crowley smiled, sadly. It was a totally predictable response, of course it was. "You don't believe me, of course you don't. Just, kitten - bear in mind when you _do_ believe me: at least I'm royalty?" He drew a deep breath. "I didn't want to freak you out. Send you screaming to the nuthouse. But those things you've been seeing? My eyes, Juliet's...well, Juliet's everything." He pulled a face. "Did you really never question why my dog is seven feet long with jaws that could crush a Volkswagen, love? That spell you whammied yourself with must be something else."  
Jimmy glanced over to where the dog was lying on the rug, Whiskers on top of her. He swallowed hard, glancing back to Crowley. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
"I think you do," Crowley said, softly. Jimmy's eyes were wide. The set of his shoulders stiffer, anxious. "Do you really not remember any of it? No bells ringing? Demons, hunters? Angels?"  
Jimmy shifted uneasily. "Stop it. You're scaring me," he said, moving back a little bit. His eyes were big, chest falling and rising quickly with his breaths. "Why are you saying all this?"  
"I don't want to keep anything from you. And if that means..." _Losing you_. Crowley swallowed hard around the horrible great lump that was suddenly choking in his throat. His _vessel's_ throat, he reminded himself. "I was worried you'd find it... rather a lot to wrap that lovely head of yours around. That's why I didn't tell you sooner. Well... that, and I couldn't face the thought of you hating me. Jimmy, I can prove what I'm saying. I can prove it very easily. But I don't want to frighten you. All those things you said you used to see - folk with black eyes, the smoke around me - it's all true. And more."  
Jimmy's brow furrowed deeply and he swallowed hard, hands fidgeting in his lap. "Hate you? Why would I hate you? I don't understand, Fergus. You're scaring me." His voice cracked as he repeated those words, eyes starting to water.  
Crowley's voice was careful. "I've said before, a few times, that I've done things in my past that I'm..." _Not proud of?_ Crowley wrinkled his nose. _He was actually quite proud of a lot of his achievements in_ _Hell, even if falling for the angel had made him want to be a better man, blah, blah…_ "That I wouldn't do now." He caught Jimmy's gaze again, tried to hold that wide blue stare. "King of Hell, yeah? You do understand what that means? I'm a demon, darling. Not human. _Apparently_ not one of the," he couldn't help copying Jimmy's habitual air quotes. "'good guys', although I'd honestly debate that after all of the angels I've met over the centuries." He sighed. "Is this the part where you tell me I've obviously been inhaling paint fumes and try to drag me to a shrink?"  
Jimmy stared into Crowley's eyes, maybe looking at the red behind the brown like he sometimes did. He seemed to be trying to decide what to say, what to think: there was that confusion and fear written all over his face. "Prove it," he whispered.  
_Make or break time_. Crowley's fingers were hesitant, toying with the silver ring on his littlest left finger before he slipped it off and held it in his palm. He glanced up at Jimmy. "I made this ring. It's warded in such a way that it inhibits my power. Not demonic power per se - I have a certain knowledge of magic too. But I wanted to be... more human. For you. I wanted to level the playing field a little." So much left unsaid. Crowley wondered how he could ever untangle this mess. "Let's start small, shall we? No sudden movements?" As he spoke, the ring in his hand shuddered. Began to rotate. Silently, it rose from his palm to hang, turning slowly in mid-air.  
Jimmy watched Crowley, eyes narrowed with something akin to suspicion. He looked down at the ring and his eyes widened briefly. "That...that could be a magic trick."  
Crowley sighed. "So it could," he agreed. "I also do requests. What'll it be, love?"  
"I...I don't know." Jimmy furrowed his brow, like he was trying to think of something. "Take me somewhere."  
"Next-room somewhere, or Saltzburg somewhere?" Damn, but he'd always fantasised about that; about being able to whisk Jimmy away to every beautiful place on the planet in a heartbeat, to truly spoil him.  
"I don't _care_ Fergus." Jimmy sounded utterly fed-up.  
Crowley smiled weakly. "Well then. Brace yourself, we’re about to travel first-class." He didn't need to take hold of Jimmy's hands - _awkward, unresponsive_ \- but he supposed it was probably wise to give him the extra stability if he really had lost all memory of teleportation. And then the living room was gone. Jimmy's hands tightened their grip on Crowley's, clinging a little bit-  
  
-and then he was swaying, bracing against Crowley's chest as the sudden brilliance and bluster of a sunny mountainside replaced the dim, comfortable lighting of the room. Crowley gathered Jimmy closer, partly to balance and partly to reassure- if he was even capable of doing that any longer - and hoped on his lucky stars that he wasn't about to end up with puke down his jacket.  
Jimmy clung tightly to Crowley, blinking his eyes open and looking up at the scenery. He was quiet for a moment, just looking around. "You're the King of Hell," he breathed.  
  
_Hallelujah_. "Saves a fortune on plane fares." Crowley wrapped an arm around him, guiding them down to sit on sun-warmed grass, hardly daring to hope. "So on a scale of one to dumped, how mad at me are you?"  
Jimmy slowly sat down, looking up at the sky. "I don't know that I'm mad. I'm confused. How? What does this mean?"  
He hadn't pulled away. Something swelled, hopeful, in Crowley's chest. His thumb stroked Jimmy's shoulder where his hand rested. The view was really something else. Treetops below them. Distant snow-capped peaks. Birdsong in the crisp air. "It means... There's a lot more I've not told you yet. Do you think you're ready? I'm asking you to trust me when I suppose I've not been fully honest with you, but," Crowley tilted his head, surveying Jimmy's expression side-on, "you seem to have twigged straight away why I've kept this quiet until now."  
"I don't know," Jimmy said quietly, leaning into Crowley, just barely. "I'm a bit frightened. I don't think you would hurt me, but I... I don't know what this means."  
Crowley hugged him closer. "Believe me, darling, if I _wasn't_ dizzy bonkers in love with you, _then_ I'd be scary." A breeze was winding around them, lifting his hair. What if they just stayed here? Never went back? "Things have been very different in Hell for a long time... But that's beside the point now." He took a deep breath. "Now I've shown you mine. Are you ready to see yours?"  
Jimmy's head snapped up at that and he turned to look at Crowley. "Mine? What are you talking about?"  
  
Crowley's hand slipped down to circle his wrist, the one with the bracelet snug around it. "This time when I say 'don't be angry' I mean, for the sake of this beautiful scenery and any local wildlife, don't be angry.  I'm a demon..." It sounded so trite, spoken aloud. But also, his brain informed him, more than a little bit delicious, too. "You're an angel. It's all very star-crossed, you know."  
Jimmy narrowed his eyes at Crowley. "No," he said, tugging his hand away. "No. Now you're just being absurd. Stop it."  
" _That’s_ where you draw the line?" Crowley regarded him, a little sadly. He looked so dazed. Probably in shock, and little wonder. Was there any gentler way he could have eased Jimmy into this knowledge, other than just gritting his teeth and ripping the plaster right off? Crowley doubted it. His tone was cautious. "I can prove that part, too. But I'm not sure how safe it'll be..."  
"Yes, that's where I draw the line. It makes sense that I wouldn't know what you are. Why wouldn't I know that _I'm_ am _angel_? You're being ridiculous, Fergus." As if out of some instinct he rested his hand over his wrist, his bracelet.  
It was almost as if his subconscious was still protecting him. Clinging onto the charade it had crafted. Crowley rested his head against Jimmy's shoulder. "Alright, pet. Maybe that's enough for one sitting. But will you promise me this- you'll think about what I've told you and you'll let me know when you're ready to hear more?"  
Jimmy frowned down at Crowley, fingers running along the bracelet. "I don't know what's going on in your head," he mumbled.  
"I'm trying to do right by you, love. You..." This was even harder to word than he'd anticipated, in the long hours since the meal he'd spent rehearsing it in his head. "You don't want to remember. I don't know how you did it yet, but you must've cast some pretty heavy juju on yourself: you created yourself a whole new life."  
Jimmy frowned deeply. "No, that doesn't make sense. I have a cat. I had a home and a job. I had a full life. I'm not...I'm not literally an angel, Crowley. I'm just yours."  
_I'm just yours._ Crowley closed his eyes again. Those words felt like they struck something very deeply buried inside him. "You _have_ a cat, and a home, and a job. And a doting partner who adores you and a worryingly large comic book collection. _Now_. All of that is real, my darling, but it's also... recent." He swallowed, throat tight again. Voice quieter. "We knew each other. Before. We... I guess you could say we weren't always on the best of terms. That's why I found you. Why I came looking for you. Why you didn't cast me as somebody in your new life, I don't know. Perhaps because I'm a demon." His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the sighing of the warm breeze. "Perhaps you just hated me and I never realised."  
"No," Jimmy said firmly. "That's not possible. How could I hate you? I've liked you from the moment we met. I love you more than I thought it possible to love another being. I can't hate you. Don't say anything like that."  
"I believe you." Crowley said, quietly. "I believe _you_ , Jimmy. But when I say you've changed a lot from when I first knew you, it's an understatement. I suppose the same goes for me. We've... been good for each other. If I could leave it at that, believe me angel, I would. But there're a couple of fine, upstanding, all-American boys who I suspect are not going to let this one slide..."  
Jimmy blinked slowly. "My brothers?" He looked distraught, confused, trying to comprehend.  
  
"Your brothers." Crowley repeated. He was hit by the sudden urge to pull Jimmy to him and hold him and never let go. "They're... Trying to look out for you, same as I am. Although might I volunteer the observation, that their methods lack subtlety. They think you're better off knowing the truth. That I was wrongly keeping it from you. And, well... Like I said. I took a longer look at our situation and I realised that perhaps you do deserve to know. Or at least be offered the choice." He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. "Angel, please know- I didn't keep all of this from you to deceive you. I'd just never seen you so happy before. I'd never been so happy before. So perhaps it was a little selfish of me, but-" he shrugged, helplessly. "What can I say? Demon."  
Jimmy took a deep breath and got to his feet. "This is all too much to process. I still don't know that I believe you, but I don't know why you... why you would lie about this. I don't understand."  
"You want to go home?" Crowley looked around him. The green too green, the sky a saturated blue absent of clouds. Too much beauty daring to still exist oblivious whilst his world teetered on the brink. Again. "Or... I can give you a lift somewhere. If you'd rather be alone."  
"I don't know what I want," Jimmy said quietly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I don't... understand. Why would I want to forget being an angel?"  
"Oh, sweetheart. It's not all fluffy clouds and Kum Ba Yah. You were a soldier." He couldn't help it, the way his eyes went misty - red, he could feel them - his throat tight in an entirely different way. "Such _power_. Like a star on the brink of supernova. You were magnificent. You _are_ magnificent..." Crowley took hold of Jimmy's hand again; the fingers in his limp and unprotesting. "I think that it all must've finally got too much for you. The responsibility. You went through a lot. Even angels have their breaking point."  
Jimmy blinked as he stared at Crowley, breath shaking, he took a step closer to him. "Your eyes," he whispered.  
"You always said you liked them." Crowley hated the tremor in his voice. He'd bested the best, shown no remorse, was the daringest devil to ever plot a scheme, and now this was what was bringing him low...  
Jimmy took another step closer and tentatively reached out, stroking Crowley's cheek. "They're beautiful," he murmured.  
_Hearts skipping beats and all that bloody nonsense_.... Crowley would never get used to it, but he damn well hoped this meant he'd have the opportunity to try. He caught Jimmy's hand, pressing its palm to his cheek with his own, leaning into the touch. "You're beautiful." Turning his head he kissed Jimmy's palm, the inside of his wrist. "Here I was. Thinking I was about to be dumped."  
Jimmy pressed his forehead to Crowley's. "I don't understand, but I know that I love you," he whispered, "I know that I want you."  
"I can assure you that the feeling is wholeheartedly mutual, pet." He couldn't quite believe his ears, couldn't trust his stupid luck, but Crowley wasn't about to check this particular gift horse for fillings. "And I can personally vouch that there's not a human soul around for at least ten K in each direction. If you're, y’know..." His fingers walked the graceful curve of Jimmy's t-shirt clad waist.  
Jimmy's lips pressed into a thin line. "You are a pervert. An absolute ass." With that he pushed Crowley onto the ground and climbed atop him, straddling his hips and grinning a little.  
"You're the one who fell for me, sunshine." Crowley felt the stupid smile spreading across his face. He squinted up at the creature astride him, but the glare of blue sky was blinding, giving him a view of just silhouette and sunny halo. Fitting. Slowly he smoothed palms up Jimmy's thighs, soft-worn denim taut across them. He licked his lips. "So, now you know my dirty little secret, would you like to see another neat trick?"  
"You look like the one that fell," Jimmy whispered, grinning a little bit. He leaned down. "Will it be fun?"  
Crowley didn't answer. Just wagged his eyebrows and smirked. Jimmy's warm solid weight braced across his hips was starting to do very pleasant things to his crotch. Jimmy brushed his lips ever so gently, ever so teasingly, against Crowley's. "Show me your trick." Crowley's smirk lifted at one corner. He clicked his fingers - never necessary of course, but he always did so love a bit of theatricality - and the sudden slide of flesh against naked flesh dragged a gasp from even his lips. Jimmy made a soft noise of surprise and rolled his hips gently, pressing more tightly against Crowley. "I like that trick."  
"Mmm? Oh darling, I'm only just getting started." Hands on his thighs again. The muscle sleek and powerful under a soft fuzz of dark hair. Crowley stroked palms up towards Jimmy's narrow hips, traced the cut of his hipbones with his thumbs. Slid his hands around to palm his arse, coaxing him further up Crowley's body. Capturing his mouth in a far deeper kiss. Jimmy moaned quietly, pushing into Crowley's touch, ass rubbing against his cock. He kissed him deeply, hands sliding up into his hair. So perfectly responsive. So generous with his affection even when Crowley had just dropped this bombshell on him. He arched into it as Crowley stroked him like a cat, hands skimming the length of his back, Crowley’s hips urging up, rubbing himself against the cleft of that gorgeous arse. Crowley groaned, sucking on Jimmy's tongue, wet and filthy and just exactly how he liked it. When Jimmy pulled back, flustered, gasping for the air he still thought he needed, Crowley leaned up. Grazed teeth gently over one earlobe before he whispered, "Ride me."  
Jimmy whimpered softly at that, fingers tight in Crowley's hair. He was panting softly as he nodded, pushing back desperately against Crowley's cock. "We... some kind of lube. Should I get you wet?"  
"Boyfriend perks, kitten." Crowley murmured. His dick throbbed at the little surprised noise that escaped Jimmy's lips as he felt himself suddenly wet, slick. _What do people do without magic?_ Cupping his arse-cheeks in both hands, Crowley's fingers drifted, circling. Spreading him. Oh, how he'd like a rear view of this encounter. Such a pretty setting. Such a handsome creature, rubbing his cock against Crowley's belly.  
Jimmy tipped his head to the side curiously, but then he was moaning as the fingers pressed against him. "Oh... oh, yes. Please."  
"Down." He was always so pliant, so amenable. "Sit on my fingers. Oh, angel, yes..." The light was still blinding, blazing behind him, but either Crowley's eyes had adjusted a little or it was sheer bloody willpower that afforded him the view of Jimmy grinding down on two of his fingers, mouth open, gasping, lips flushed with pleasure. "If you could see yourself..." His cock twitched, wanting. "Do you want me? Tell me. _Show_ me."  
Jimmy moaned and nodded. "I want you so badly," he panted, working himself on Crowley's fingers, riding them. His own fingers curled against the demon's chest, digging in. "Please. Fergus, please. Let me have your cock."  
The little groan when Crowley slipped his fingers out was music to Crowley's ears. Wet fingers gripped sleek hips, positioning him. The slick tip of Crowley's dick rubbing against his hole, Jimmy's breath coming fast and excited. "You're insatiable, aren't you? You're a force of nature. Take it, angel. Take what you want from me."  
Jimmy nodded quickly. "Yes. Yes, I can't get enough." He let out a broken moan as he slid down onto Crowley's cock, eyes fell closed, head back. "Fuuuuck."  
Breath catching in his chest, Crowley hissed it out between his teeth at the sight of Jimmy arching above him, sunshine on smooth tan skin, hair a wind-tousled mess. That wet-hot-snug clench around him - Crowley groaned, rolling his hips, feeling Jimmy ride it, speared to the hilt. _Gorgeous_. His hands were still braced on Crowley's chest: Crowley covered them with his own, hips starting to set a rhythm. "Dig those claws in, kitten. Harder. Make me  _feel_ it."  
Jimmy whimpered and did as he was told. His nails dug in hard, enough to leave marks. He started to work himself up and down on Crowley's cock, harder, faster, moaning loudly. "Talk to me."  
"You're glorious like this." Even without the inhibitor charm, the echo of Crowley's heart hammered his chest, a swelling inside to match the sting of Jimmy's blunt nails scoring his skin. "You could break me. Swallow me whole. You make me lose control, just want to..." He trailed off into a long moan. Jimmy's hips rolled, gripped firmly in Crowley's hands. Every muscle of that elegant body taut, sweat starting to collect, shimmering in the hollow of his throat, the crease of his thighs. Panting heavily, he let out moan after moan of pleasure as he worked himself faster on Crowley's cock. "Want to what?" he gasped.  
The growl that Crowley gave in response was as coherent a communication as he could manage.  His palms tingled, the soles of his feet, every atom of his vessel reaching towards satisfaction. Tightening his grasp on Jimmy's hips, he pulled him, roughly, forward, changing their angle and rubbing up into him, quicker, focused on that one deep spot. The feeling was too much, the heavy pressure between his legs building past endurance; Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, moaning as he shot hard into delicious heat.  
Jimmy cried out loudly, body pitching forward. He collapsed on top of Crowley, letting his weight rest on him. Almost immediately after Crowley's release he was spilling between them, arms tight around Crowley's shoulders. Kissing Jimmy's forehead, his temples, Crowley held him tight, feeling the aftershock shudders wracking his body. He was grateful of the breeze; all that exercise in the sunshine worked up quite a sweat. Shifting gently he eased out, swallowing Jimmy's answering whimper with a kiss.  
Jimmy kissed him back slowly, arms still tight around him. "I love you," he whispered against his lips, "I don't care what you are. I love you."  
"You'll love me more now I can do this," Crowley murmured back. A wave of his hand and they were both cleaned up. "Ah, I have missed that."   
Jimmy made a soft noise of surprise and let out a little laugh. "No, I love you the same," he murmured, kissing his jaw.   
Crowley’s expression grew softer. "I never want to risk what I've found with you. From now on, complete transparency. Agreed?"  
"Agreed."  
"You up for sticking around here for a while?" Crowley rolled them gently to the side, laid Jimmy down on the lush grass. His hair very dark against that saturated green, his skin sun-golden, eyes reflecting the huge clear sky. "Not a bad little spot is it? I could go for some sunbathing." He stretched, relishing the sun on his skin. The novelty of being naked outdoors. It had been a long time.  
Jimmy reached out to tangle his fingers lightly with Crowley's, turning his head to look over at him. His eyes were soft, lips curled up in a small smile. "That sounds nice."  
  
They lay like that for minutes, or hours: Crowley tended to lose track and Jimmy didn't seem to be complaining. When Crowley looked over, Jimmy seemed to be sleeping. The bracelet caught the sun, reflecting. A real angel, Crowley thought. _Bloody sentimental_. A smile tugged at Crowley's lips and he pushed himself up, seated on the grass. It was starred with some form of little white flowers, not daisies - he should know really, but he didn't. Wasn't even sure of the name of the region he'd landed them in; it was just an intuition, a sense memory. His fingers plucked a handful of flowers, delicately arranged them in Jimmy's unruly hair until he evidently couldn't keep up the pretence of 'sleeping' and, eyes still closed, smiled up at Crowley.  
"I have a crown. Can I be your queen now?" Jimmy's voice was a whisper as his eyelids fluttered, cracking open just slightly.  
Crowley gave a little chuckle. He rearranged one blossom, shading Jimmy's eyes from the sun. "You've always been my queen, darling. But now I can really start treating you like one."  
_What’s the catch?_ that treacherous little voice in his head asked. Crowley bit his bottom lip. Perhaps there wasn't one. Perhaps, finally, things were going his way.  
Oh, he couldn't wait to phone Dean.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone who's reading this, especially if you leave a comment letting us know how we're doing - it means the world to us! x


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More revelations...

Jimmy snuggled in close against Crowley, nuzzling his chest gently. It seemed things had shifted a bit between them. King of Hell. _Strange_. Angel... _No_. He kissed the... _demon's_ jaw gently. "Do we need to talk to Sam and Dean?"

"Darling, nothing would give me greater pleasure." Jimmy felt the movement as Crowley shifted, then, "Bolllocks. Crystal clear reception in the first circle of Hell, but not one lousy bar halfway up an Alp?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes fondly at Crowley's excitement to call his brothers. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his pants that were still lying on the grass next to him, frowning. "Me either. You have service in Hell? Where _is_ Hell?"

"A little tricky to explain geographically. Let's just say, somewhere between an alternate dimension and Portland."  
Jimmy craned his neck to catch Crowley's lopsided smile, then leaned down to kiss him softly, unable to resist when he gave that look. "Where will you have service then?"

"Back home?" Crowley's eyebrows raised appealingly. "I always found there's a very reliable signal in the bedroom."

"Fergus," Jimmy scolded playfully, tapping his fingertip against his lover's nose. "We have things to do."

He pulled his hand out of reach as Crowley snapped at his finger. Crowley's chuckle was low and deep. Content-sounding. "I suppose you're right. My blissful happiness isn't going to lord _itself_ over the Winchesters." He tipped Jimmy a wink. Sitting up, his back arched as he stretched and was suddenly fully clothed again, in one of his identical black suits.

Jimmy laughed and leaned against Crowley, nipping his jaw gently. "Where will you take us?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

"Somewhere with cell service would be best," Jimmy chuckled.

Crowley stood, offering him a hand up. Looked him up and down unhurriedly. "I do hate to do this..." He gestured with one hand and Jimmy found himself clothed again. "Let's remember this place. Bring a picnic next time." Jimmy managed a laugh at the words just before they both disappeared. And then the sunlit mountainside was gone, and they were back in the familiar, comparative dimness of their kitchen. 

 

He blinked, adjusting to the light as Whiskers padded in, forming a quick figure eight between his legs and then Crowley's.

Already, Crowley was leaning against the marble countertop, grinning, his phone held against his ear. He held one finger up, then nodded. "Ah. Squirrel. And a good afternoon to you, too. As it happens, yes I have. Wait, let me just put you on speaker."

"Cas?" There was Dean's voice, the way Jimmy remembered hearing it in the past, when the man was nowhere around. Only now he was actually talking to him. Jimmy furrowed his brow, looking up at Crowley. "Oh. That's... me. Hello, Dean."

The way Crowley's eyes widened at that would have been funny if he'd not looked so suddenly worried. His voice when he spoke was, however, smooth as ever. "He's going by 'Jimmy' now, Squirrel. You'll get used to it."

Jimmy could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes. "He get a choice in the matter?"

Jimmy frowned. "Being called 'Cas' feels strange."

"There. You heard the man." Crowley said. He didn't sound quite as smug as Jimmy had been anticipating.

From the other end of the line, Sam's voice chipped in. "Whatever Cas -ah, Jimmy - wants. Right, Dean?"

Dean grunted at that. "Yeah, alright," he grumbled.

"Hello, Sam," Jimmy said pleasantly, ignoring the weirdness.

"Moose." Crowley acknowledged curtly, setting his phone down on the work top and bracing a hand either side of it. "Well, this is all very chummy, but it's not strictly a social call." He looked expectantly over at Jimmy: his eyes seemed to show more hope than gloating. "I believe Jimmy here has something to tell you."

Jimmy moved to Crowley, arms wrapping around his middle, ducking to rest his head gently on the man's shoulder. "Crowley told me about himself. I don't care."

"You hear that, boys?" Crowley turned his head, pressing a kiss to Jimmy's forehead. "I don't think even you two could misinterpret that statement."

Jimmy made a pleased noise at the kiss, closing his eyes. There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then, "Yeah, we're gonna need to see you two again before we go."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "I miss you too, darling, but why, pray, do you need to see us? If you think I've got an angel blade at his throat then I'm happy to move this party to Skype."

"Face to face, Crowley," Dean growled.

Jimmy sighed softly. "Can we all stop arguing? We'll meet." He gave Crowley a stern look, softened by his fingers brushing through Crowley’s hair.

"Fine." Crowley rolled his eyes, leaning closer to the phone. "Time, place, etcetera - we'll come to you. It's not like we have any transport delays anymore." An edge of smugness crept into his voice. "We'll even pay you a house call if you like."

Dean huffed. "We're not home. Come to the motel." He rattled off an address and motel number. "See you soon." With that he hung up.

  
"Soon enough?"

Jimmy untangled himself from Crowley, looking around the motel room. He hadn't even had a chance to stop leaning against him. Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

"One day you'll learn to knock." Sam's lips were pursed, a familiar expression.

Crowley smirked, folding his arms and raising his chin. "I seem to recall I had an invite - well, more of a surly demand, if we don't sugar-coat it."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered and turned his attention to Jimmy. "Ca-Jimmy. What do you know?"

Jimmy's eyes darted to Crowley and back to Dean. "He's a demon. King of Hell, to be precise. He says I'm an angel. I don't think I believe that bit."

"You believe that he's the King of Hell, but you don't believe that you're an angel?" Sam frowned at him, but his eyes were full of sympathy. "Why? Can't you..." He wrinkled his nose, "you know... Feel it, or something? Your power?"

Jimmy blinked at that. "No." Was he supposed to feel something? Neither Sam nor Dean seemed surprised by the idea of him being an angel.

"Do you still _have_ power?" Sam asked carefully, as if it was a sensitive question.

"He does. I've had to replace enough glassware to be certain of that." Jimmy felt Crowley's fingers brush, protectively, against his arm. "He's never been... Aware of what it was. Is that right, love?"

Jimmy blushed at that, ducking his head a moment. "Yes," he admitted.

When he looked up Dean staring with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. "Are you friggin’ _blushing_? Sam is he blushing?"

"Dean..." Sam said, warningly. His tone said 'you're embarrassing him'. "So, you can't feel it _now_? Nothing? Have you... tried?"

"Ah..." Crowley cleared his throat. Jimmy felt Crowley pull him closer, an arm slipping around him. "He can't." His voice dropped lower; Sam and Dean could maybe still hear, but the words were clearly meant for Jimmy alone. "I tried to tell you, earlier. I know it's a lot to take in, but I swear that I only did it to protect you."

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, clearly exhausted by all this. Jimmy looked at Crowley, brows furrowed. "I don't understand..."

"The cuff I gave you. It's imbued with a spell to inhibit your powers. I didn't want you losing control... Hurting yourself."

Jimmy blinked in surprise, looking down at his bracelet. He ran his fingers over it uncertainly. "I see."

"Pet, I tried to tell you." Crowley's voice dropped even lower. "That's why I made myself one too. So we could be..." He cleared his throat, glancing at Sam and Dean before whispering, "Human together."

Jimmy furrowed his brow, trying to comprehend it all. He reached up to touch Crowley's cheek. "Okay," he said softly.

Dean groaned. "Get a room you two."

"Yeah, okay, well..." Sam raised his eyebrows, voice clipped. "I guess it's pretty clear how everyone feels. Crowley... what would happen if, ah, Jimmy, took the cuff off now?"

Crowley shrugged. "Absolute nada, I expect."

Dean cocked a brow. Were his arms crossing even tighter? "Would he be able to use his powers?"

No... No. he didn't _want_ to use his powers.

"I don't know." Crowley's tone was brittle. Cautious. "Jimmy?"

"I don't want to." His voice was close to a whimper. "I forgot the powers for a reason, didn't I? Maybe I'm dangerous."

"Of course you're dangerous. You're a bloody warrior. But don't think for a moment you're not in control." He levelled a narrow gaze on Dean, when he said to Jimmy. "If you don't want to push yourself, nobody's going to force you."

Jimmy worried his lower lip, uncertain. He didn't want to. But Crowley said he would be in control. What was the point? He’d still forgotten for a reason. He swallowed and shook his head. "I can't."

Crowley nodded, squeezing Jimmy's arm slightly. "You heard him, boys. He doesn't want to. End of discussion."

Sam nodded, pushing a hand through his hair. "Alright. Ok. It's just..."

"Just _what_?"

"This is bigger than Jimmy. Bigger than all of us." He looked appealingly at Jimmy. "You can help people. Nobody's asking you to... _remember whatever you're trying to forget_. But aren't you even a little worried about what made you want to forget in the first place?"

"Yes! That's why I don't want to remember." Jimmy was getting frustrated now. It must have been bad to make him wilfully give up his memory. "Why would I want to?"

"To remember?" Sam fixed him with a direct look. "Or to help people?"

Jimmy flinched at a sudden noise at his side: Crowley had started to clap, slowly. "Alright, let's break it up now, shall we? We've all had our say. Squirrel is angry, Moose is angsty, yours truly is as witty and stylish as ever and Jimmy still isn't going to trot obediently back into his former life: his choice. Now unless we'd all like to play nicely and have a cuddle and a cuppa, I think it may be best for all if we were on our way again. Jimmy?"

Jimmy glared at the suggestion that he didn't want to help people, eyes narrowed. He looked up at Crowley a moment. Then he took his bracelet off. The fastening that was so seamless, so permanent, fell easily open when he willed it. Crowley’s lips thinned, pressed together, but he said nothing. Jimmy directed his glare to the lamp beside the closet. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he wanted the bulb to explode. And then... it did. He looked back at Sam. "Are you ha-" He blinked, a bit off balance. In his mind he was in a dark place, filled with screaming, torture. He saw his own hand grab a man's shoulder and begin to fly. He blinked once more. "Oh." His gaze moved to Dean. "I saved you from Hell."

"Cas..?" Dean's expression changed instantly, hope dawning as he took a hesitant step forward.

"Jimmy?" Crowley's voice was rough at his side. Just as hesitant.

Jimmy's eyes flicked between the two men. Yes. To both of them, yes. Cas and Jimmy. He gulped. "More Jimmy than Cas."

Crowley's shoulders visibly relaxed. Jimmy looked over at Dean, who ran a hand across his face and shook his head.

"This, this is good, guys." Sam addressed him. "You still have a grip on your mojo, you're remembering things and look, you're fine." His expression seemed to ask _you are fine, aren't you?_

As if reading his mind, Jimmy heard Crowley's voice, soft. "Everything OK, love?"

Jimmy took a deep breath. "This is a lot to process," he said calmly, looking over to stare at the broken lamp. "I'm tired."

"Do you want to go home?" Crowley's voice was gentle, full of concern: surely Jimmy’s brothers could hear that?

Jimmy glanced at Sam and Dean, then back again. "Yes," he said quietly, then looked directly at Dean. "I've... heard you praying. I didn't know what it was. If you need anything..."

Dean nodded, although he looked uncertain. "Sure thing, Cas." His gaze flicked to Crowley, who exhaled a short-tempered sigh.

"Yes, don't worry. We'll be in touch. You have my word."

Then there came the now-familiar vertigo rush of air, and Jimmy opened his eyes to his own front room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys! Every single comment makes our respective weeks <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit starts to get real...

There was something quite viscerally satisfying about doing a poo. From the meditative sit, waiting for human nature to take its course, to the relieving flurry of evacuation - it was all quite astonishing, really. Crowley flipped a page of BBC History and covered a yawn with the back of his hand. Ah, here it comes. Of course, it's a lot more fun when you've the option to switch the function off again. The ring on his little finger caught the light as he reached for the loo roll, and he smiled, memories of the previous night sparking.  
Showers, too: an underrated pleasure when they were a - temporary - necessity. When he was comfortably settled beneath glorious water pressure, Crowley looked down, assessing. His vessel. His _body_. At least right now. It was a good one. Pleasing. It made him glad he'd stuck with it, all these decades, years after its original owner passed on and forfeited it to him: what a poker game that had been. An iridescent frill of bubbles clung to the dark nap of hair on his chest: Crowley swilled them away with a handful of shower spray. Circling a soapy palm loosely around his naughty bits, it was impossible not to think of the previous night. Of holding him down and having him: the memory of every ragged breath and blissful cry had Crowley’s cock heavy and fat all over again. Little miracles. Shaking himself, Crowley ran hands through his hair, reaching for the shampoo before he had time to get carried away all over again with thoughts of the divine creature that had stolen the scraps of his black heart, when the real thing was waiting for him, warm and solid and loving, in the next room. Still there, by choice, despite everything. Crowley's face practically ached with smiling. Finally, things were going his way.  
  
Jimmy was sprawled out on the mattress, sheet covering him from the waist down. He stretched like a cat and buried his face in the pillow, probably trying to go back to sleep.  
The bed dipped as Crowley sat on the edge, adjusting the towel around his waist, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Gorgeous creature. Wild thing. However much it may cross his mind that he'd tamed an angel, Crowley knew that wasn't remotely true. He reached out one hand, fingertip trailing in the wake of his gaze, a gentle path down Jimmy's lightly-muscled back. "Hey, sleepy-head. You getting up? It's Saturday."  
Jimmy made a soft noise, arching his back slightly into Crowley's touch. "No," he grumbled, relaxing his body again. "I'm going to stay here forever. Join me."  
"We both have a day off together and you want to spend it in bed?"  
"Maybe you weren't listening. I said I want to stay in bed _forever_." Jimmy reached out blindly before grabbing onto Crowley's wrist and tugging him.  
"When you put it like that..." Crowley let himself be pulled, falling onto the bed at Jimmy's side. "You raise a compelling argument." His palms smoothed over sleek skin, following the line of Jimmy's shoulders, his ribs. "Although, what about when you need to eat? What if you need a wee?"  
Jimmy turned to tuck his face into Crowley's neck, nuzzling him and kissing at his skin gently. "You can use your magic," he mumbled, arm wrapping around him.  
Crowley laughed softly. Those lips on his throat made every hair in his vessel shiver to attention, his cock shifting beneath the towel he wore. "You're very spoilt now, you know that, kitten?"  
Jimmy gave a little shrug, nibbling at Crowley's skin gently. "I like to think I spoil you as well."  
"Mmm. I think you're right. I think I've never been so spoilt. Almost like we're made for one another, isn't it?"  
"You deserve to be spoiled," Jimmy murmured, "I believe we were made for one another."  
"Is that so?" Crowley leaned back. Held him just far away enough to look at him properly, fingers drifting through Jimmy's thick, messy hair. "Even now that you know all my deep, dark secrets, hmm?"  
Jimmy made a pleased noise at the touch, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. "I don't care," he murmured.  
"I know." Crowley chuckled, leaning his forehead against Jimmy's. "I'll just never tire of hearing it."  
Jimmy rolled his eyes fondly, fingers trailing along Crowley's back. "I love you, Fergus."  
Strange how those words could have such an effect, running through his whole system, stronger even than a magic incantation. A warmth. Crowley closed his eyes, contentedly. "Right back at you, James."  
Jimmy pressed a kiss to Crowley's forehead, holding him close. He sighed softly in contentment, nuzzling him gently.  
Every muscle in Crowley's vessel relaxed. Like a full-form exhale, warm and comfortable and trouble-free, sinking into peace and quiet and-  
  
-Crowley jerked suddenly to attention, disoriented for a second until he realised he must have nodded off. Jimmy too, by the looks of it: Crowley smiled at the dark head on the pillow next to his, until he noted how Jimmy's brows were drawn, tense, how he was muttering under his breath. His smile turning to a frown, Crowley laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. "Jimmy. Wake up, love. It's just a nightmare."  
Jimmy whimpered softly, blinking his eyes open. He looked at Crowley for a moment and then suddenly sat up. "Dean. He's in trouble."  
"What?" Crowley groaned, rubbing his eyes and struggling up onto one elbow. "Rewind a little there, pet. You were dreaming about Dean?"  
Jimmy narrowed his eyes in concentration. "No. He's praying to me," he said, glancing over at Crowley. "There's a demon. I need to get to him."  
"Whoah, whoah, now hang on a tic." A swelling bubble of panic welled sudden in Crowley's chest, jolting him immediately alert. "Where is he? I'll go."  
Jimmy snapped out coordinates. "I need to go too, Crowley. It's Dean. Please, take me."  
_I'm not happy about this._ Grim-faced, Crowley slipped the ring from his finger. A precise gesture and both of them were fully dressed. He dropped the ring into his breast pocket. _How can I say that to him? Now, after everything, when I most want him to trust me?_ "Alright. If it's one of mine, it'll be a cakewalk. But... take your cuff off. Just to be safe."  
Jimmy looked down at his wrist, clearly hesitant. After a short moment he took it off and reached out to grab Crowley's hand.  
  
The familiar lurch and sting of teleportation. They reappeared in a nondescript suburban home - the type of beige-carpeted, surround-sound nest of mediocrity that Crowley could never enter without suspecting camouflaged nefariousness. Jimmy's hand was still warm in his. He looked around. "I think they left alread-" his words were cut short by a loud thud and pained yell from the next room. "My mistake. Seems somebody _is_ home."  
Jimmy let go of Crowley's hand and rushed towards the other room, panicked. "Dean!"  
"Bollocks." A blink and Crowley was next door just as Jimmy entered, face to face with the creature that bent over a prone Dean Winchester, its back to Crowley. Human-shaped. Black suit. But... "Jimmy, that's no demon."  
Jimmy grabbed the monster's shirt, tugging him away roughly. " _What are you?_ " he growled.  
A strange, unfamiliar feeling gripped Crowley by the scruff of the neck and shook him. Fear. "Jimmy, don't-" Without a clear shot he couldn't even attempt to take whatever it was on- didn't even know what they were dealing with, aside from the waves of old, cold menace that rolled from the thing that looked like a man. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the creature seemed to share Crowley's desire that it be as far away from Jimmy as possible. A high-pitched noise like tearing steel screeched obscenely from its too-human-looking mouth as it flung Jimmy into a wall. Crowley winced at the impact. Too easy to forget, when he acted so mortal, that Jimmy was anything but. The magic surged in him: Crowley raised both hands. "You will _definitely_ regret that."    
The recoil of the wave of curse energy he threw at it sent him staggering back a few steps. The blow the creature dealt him a moment later had him slamming into the wall behind, showered with plaster-dust, spots of red light dancing in his darkened vision.  
Jimmy growled when Crowley was thrown and he got to his feet, rushing over to punch the creature in the back of the head. Crowley registered, vaguely, the irate screech of the thing - surely irritation more than pain, as it had taken such a magical hit as he'd launched at it with barely a pause. "No!" He yelled without thinking, hoping to pull focus away from Jimmy. He succeeded. The creature tilted its head, taking a step towards him across Squirrel's hopefully-just-unconscious form. "Oh, shit." Crowley said, quietly. He could maybe muster the energy to teleport away, but that would leave Jimmy as focal target. Anything he could direct at the thing, without a good few minutes recovery at least, would be little more than a tickle. The only thing he could hope for now was that he could buy time. He closed his eyes. _Trust a bloody Winchester that it ends like this_. "I hope your diary's free all afternoon, darling." He opened his eyes and smirked up at the creature. "'Cause, FYI, I can take one _Hell_ of a licking. _Jimmy, RUN!_ "  
  
Jimmy did not run. Jimmy launched himself at the creature, tackling him to the ground. "Absolutely not," he growled at Crowley before pulling the thing’s head back. He pressed a hand to its forehead, there was a light, and the monster went limp beneath him. At the same time Jimmy gripped his own forehead, letting out a cry of pain.  
"Jimmy-" Crowley winced as he reached instinctively forward, agony from his back lancing through him, "Love, what's wrong?" The fear was building, an opaque grey fog, blotting out reason.  
Jimmy looked up, brow furrowed. He stared at Crowley a moment before his face hardened. He got to his feet, moved to Dean. Two fingers pressed to the Hunter's forehead, and Dean stirred, groaning, eyes still closed. Jimmy turned back to Crowley. "My name is Castiel." he said, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, your comments keep us so enthusiastic! Next update will be very soon...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's memory has returned.

_“I’ve...I’ve been here for a long time, and I remember many things.”_

Castiel appeared in front of the bunker and pressed a hand to the wall, preventing himself from falling over. He hadn’t known where else to go. It was the first place he’d thought of, the first place he knew Crowley wouldn’t be able to pop in.

_“The stench of that Impala is all over your overcoat, Angel.”_

His stomach turned, his head pounding, eyes stinging with tears. How could he have let this happen? He should have prepared, should have taken precautions against Crowley, and other enemies.

_“I’ve got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore.”_

He opened the door and stumbled inside. Stairs. Wonderful. Glorious. Well, he’d kept his sense of sarcasm at least.

_“You want to make a deal? With me? I’m an angel, you ass.”_

Every kiss still lingered on his lips, his neck, his shoulders, every inch of his body. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and sat on the top step, rocking back and forth. How could he have let himself fall in love with the King of Hell?

_“Buddy boy, you’ve got what they call sex appeal.”_

Eyes squeezed shut, images flashed in his mind. Crowley between his spread legs, him straddling Crowley’s hips, moving together, moaning, whispers of love. He whimpered softly, eyes flashing back open. Using the rail he pulled himself back up, started down the stairs. _One. Two._

_“You know the difference between you and me? I know what I am. What are you, Castiel?”_

_Three, four._ His knees were shaking. The cuff was in the pocket of his jeans. It would need to stay with him. A reminder of the deceit. _Five, six._

_“Really, Cas. This is getting ridiculous. How many times am I gonna have to clean up your messes?”_

Crowley rubbing soap over his body, big hands loving, tender, arousing… _No_. _Seven, eight._

_“I’m renegotiating our terms. You get nothing. Not a single soul.”_

But hadn’t there been something before? How often had he thought about kissing the King when they were working together? That didn’t matter. None of that mattered. How many steps had he taken? He was almost to the bottom of the staircase.

_“Never underestimate the king of Hell, darling. I know a lot of swell tricks.”_

Fingers gripped the railing tightly as he took the last step. His face was wet. Oh, he was crying. Lovely. He took a deep breath, a calming technique he’d learned during his time as a human. It didn’t help.

_“Fancy a drink before you smite me?”_

Stepping into the room he fought away the memories. Crowley pouring him a glass of scotch. Smoke flowing between their lips. A blanket over their heads to escape the rain. His knees were giving way. He grabbed for a chair.

_“I can offer a token, if you like. It’s honey. I collected it myself.”_

Sinking down he rested his head on the table, eyes falling closed. Walking through a garden, hand warm in Crowley’s. A flower picked and tucked behind his ear, peeking out from his messy black hair.

_“You’re off your rocker. He’s off his rocker, isn’t he?”_

Crowley had tried to tell him; but that had just been self-preservation. Trying to not get into trouble for what he’d done. It was typical Crowley. Selfish to the core. A demon. How could he love a demon? How could a demon love him?

_“Never trust anyone. A lesson I learned from my old business partner.”_

He closed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted to sleep. Perhaps he didn’t need it anymore, but now he craved it more than he ever had when he thought it was necessary. He ached to sink into the mattress he’d grown accustomed to, to crawl under the silk sheets, feel Whiskers by his feet, Juliet at his side, Crowley’s strong arms wrapped around him.

_“I destroyed... everything, and I’ll destroy it again. Can’t we just leave it at that?”_

If only he could go back to his ignorance. If only he’d never met Crowley while he was Jimmy. He was perfectly content with his cat and his bar job. With not remembering all the horrible things he’d done.

_“I see now. It’s a punishment resurrection. It’s worse every time.”_

But then, he didn’t deserve that kind of peacefulness, did he? Maybe that’s why it had to be Crowley. He had to be happier than he’d been in thousands of years of existence, only to have it ripped away.

_“When you betray us, I’ll be the one to carve out your heart.”_

_“Oh, Cas. Such a flirt.”_

Could he have killed Crowley before? Certainly he couldn’t now, not when he knew what it was like to love him. Could he forget about it? Go back to how he’d been before?

_“That’s right. Burn those eyes blue. Spread those broken wings and destroy me.”_

If only he weren’t the enemy. If only he were somebody who Castiel could love. _If only, if only, if only._

_“Castiel, don’t. Do not. Please!_

Sleep overtook him. He couldn’t be conscious right now. Couldn’t handle it. He needed to escape, if only for a while.

He dreamed of nothing but Crowley.

 

 

"Should we wake him up?" The voice was quiet, rough, but with an American accent. Not Crowley. Castiel furrowed his brow, not opening his eyes. He was in a chair, not a bed, head resting on a table. It felt longer than the table in the kitchen of his home. Something was- Oh. The memories came flashing back: Crowley looking at him with concern, his head pounding, healing Dean, disappearing. His stomach twisted. The bunker. He was at the bunker. He'd left. "I mean, he could use one of the spare rooms."

  
"I dunno, Dean. He looks pretty beat." Sam's voice- thank heaven, he was safe - hushed too. "I mean, you said he took that thing out, healed you, and flew - I didn't think he had any of that in him anymore, never mind all at once." Sam's sigh sounded more than concerned, it sounded anxious. "Maybe it's best we leave him be for a while."

  
"I guess." He could hear the sigh in Dean's voice, imagined him rubbing the back of his neck. "What do you think's gonna happen? He looked pretty pissed before he left."

  
"I dunno," Sam repeated. "It's just... I feel almost bad saying this, but it's kinda a relief having him back to normal. I mean, what the hell did Crowley do to him?"

  
_He didn't do it. I did it._ Why was Castiel’s first instinct still to protect Crowley? Did it matter that he hadn’t been the one to cast the spell? Crowley had still taken advantage of him. "Yeah, but... Shit, did you see Crowley's face? Only time I've seen him like that was when I ditched him as a demon. Even then, he didn't look so... Broken."

  
Castiel heard Sam make a distinctly disgusted noise. "Even as a demon at least _you_ had some sense." Sam did not sound convinced: a far cry from the peace-keeping man Castiel remembered. "I saw him. I mean, I was mainly busy being concussed, but yeah, I saw him. I just don't trust him."

  
That made Castiel's stomach twist and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Dean said, "Since the blood addiction though he's more... Human, I guess. He has feelings. Maybe he actually cares about Cas."

  
"You trust him?" Sam's voice was incredulous. "Well... I suppose you know him better than I do. So... I can't believe I'm saying this... Crowley's in love with Cas? Looks like Cas doesn't appreciate being magic-roofied."

  
"I'm not saying I trust him, just... It could be true." Castiel's heart hammered and his eyes stung. Tears. "So what the hell do we do now?"

  
"Search me. I'm not even sure if this is a break up or a war in the making. I guess we'll find out when he wakes up." A pause, punctuated by another heavy sigh. "At least we have him back onside against The Darkness."

  
"He's just... Not a fuckin' tool, Sammy. If he loved Crowley he's gonna be in really bad shape."

  
"Jeez, Dean... Chill, OK? Jerk." Sam lowered his voice again. "I know he's not a _tool_. I care about him too: that's why I wanna know Crowley's motives. And if Cas is in bad shape, well, at least he's home now, with people who've got his back."

  
Dean was quiet for a moment, probably calming himself down. "Whatever, bitch." Another pause. "Should at least get him a blanket or pillow."

  
"And a pint of cookie dough ice cream?" Sam sounded actually more sympathetic than mocking, even though Castiel was all too aware of the trope.

  
Castiel sighed and reluctantly pushed himself up. "I don't require ice cream," he rumbled. He was aware that his eyes were tired, his hair was messy. He likely looked half as bad as he felt.

  
"Cas. Hey buddy." The sympathy in Sam's voice was unmistakable then. "Are you okay? How long have you been awake?"

  
Castiel fought a cringe at the sympathy in Sam's voice. It was embarrassing. "I'm fine. I've been awake a little while." He pushed himself up, noticed Dean eyeing him like he might fall at any moment. He heaved a sigh. "I'm fine," he repeated.

  
Sam held up both hands, acknowledging. "So, if you're alright, then... Cas, what happened?"

  
Castiel sighed. "After I attacked Dean while under Rowena's spell I was... Afraid, tired. I felt guilty. I put myself under a different spell. Crowley found me." He shrugged and looked away.

  
Sam's eyes grew wider. "Well... I meant back at the house today, but... Wow. That's... a lot."

  
"Oh." Castiel frowned. "My memories came back."

  
"So, you can remember - what, everything? Before you cursed yourself, and after? Do you remember casting the spell?"

  
Castiel slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Jeans, how strange that this was what he was wearing. "Yes." He tugged at his shirt. Would he need to get his clothes from ho- Crowley's?

  
"So you remember what you told us about your feelings for Crowley?" Sam pressed, gently.

  
"Hey, c'mon... This can wait." Dean said, but Castiel closed his eyes and replied.

  
"Yes, I remember. I remember meeting him for what I thought was the first time, I remember our first date, the first time we kissed, the first time we had sex. I remember everything." Unfortunately.

  
Dean cleared his throat, sharply. It must have been testament to how wretched Castiel looked that he didn't vocalise it: _too much information there_. "Sounds like someone could do with a drink or ten to forget."

  
Castiel huffed a laugh. That was what he did now, apparently, laughed. "It will only help if I wear the bracelet." It was still in his pocket. He could slip it on, the thought made him ache though.

  
The brothers - not Castiel's brothers, not now - exchanged a glance. "So what's the deal with that?" Sam asked carefully. "He tricked you into giving up your mojo? How's that even possible - it has to be, wow, crazy strong magic."

  
Castiel clenched his jaw. "He said it was to protect me. I don't know. He didn't do anything. I'm just... Very confused."

  
"To protect you. You buying that, Dean?"

  
Dean frowned, seeming to think about it. "He probably convinced himself that's why he was doing it."

  
Sam snorted. "To protect his own ass if Cas ever got his memory back, more like." He tilted his head. "It could be useful, though. Cas, would you mind if we kept hold of it for a while, did some research?"

  
Castiel took the bracelet out of his pocket. He ran his fingers over it gently and held it close. He swallowed hard and hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "I... I don't think so. I'd like to keep it for now."

  
"Sure, man." Dean said. He and Sam exchanged another look.

  
"Yeah, of course." Sam echoed, "I should have waited. Sorry, Cas. You want a moment?"

  
"Or company?" Dean added. "Whatever you need, it's cool. We got you."

  
"I don't know." Castiel was still staring at the bracelet. "I... Suppose it would be good to be alone."

  
"Of course. We'll fix a room up for you." Sam stood and made for the door. He paused and looked back before he left, giving Castiel an uncertain smile.

  
Castiel dropped back into the chair he'd been sitting at, staring at the bracelet. He swallowed hard, eyes watering. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

  
"You sure you're fine there, man?" Dean hung back in the doorway, eyeing him. "I know I'm not really one for talking, but... If you need to unload?"

  
Castiel looked up at Dean, eyes wet. "I don't... no." How could he talk to someone who hated Crowley about this?

  
He could have sworn Dean looked almost relieved - or perhaps it was just his imagination. Dean patted the door jamb briskly and nodded. "If you're sure. Just - promise me man, anything you need, you just ask, ok?" And then he was gone.

 

Castiel stared at the bracelet, heart threatening to beat from his chest. As an angel he had been through many things. He’d been around from near the beginning of all existence. He’d lost brothers in battle, fought the civil war when Lucifer fell, and another when he was once more locked in the cage. He’d died, lost his mind, visited Purgatory, been tortured and manipulated by Heaven. Yet this was the worst pain he’d ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shotgun wrote Cas, TheFierceBeast wrote Sam, we shared Dean ;)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's sticking with this! Every comment and kudos is gratefully appreciated and massively encouraging! We'll update very soon as we don't like leaving Cas in this state :(


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to clean up in the aftermath.

Even the dust sheets were dusty. Crowley’s hand hovered, millimetres away from the draped cloth, feeling the tingle of magic beneath. Calling him. Daring him. Bloody _owning_ him. His hand clenched into a fist. He should break that mirror. He should’ve broken it the moment he found the angel, but now especially… _One more look_. Just one more look would be the sensible thing to do, just to check the angel and his pet monkeys weren’t busy plotting against him: not because he longed to catch even just one more glimpse of those blue eyes, not at all. The fabric of the dust-sheet felt heavy between his fingers. Crowley bit his lip. It wasn’t spying. It was self-preserving reconnaissance, just like before. The sigh that escaped him was almost human in its weariness, despite the fact that the ring with its inhibiting enchantment now hung on a chain around his neck like a widower’s wedding band: he could feel it, constantly, a heavy pressure against his chest. He dropped the sheet and it fell back into place, guarding its secrets. How could he, now, after everything they’d shared? Jimmy would hate to be watched. _Castiel_ would hate to be watched. Crowley’s footsteps echoing to the ceiling as he paced out of the room was the loneliest sound he could imagine.

 

“I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s wrong with you?” _Really? That’s the first thing she says?_ Crowley rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and tutted impatiently. Rowena crossed her arms.

Crowley said, “Whatever in the world leads you to believe there’s anything wrong, aside from my being in _your_ less-than illustrious presence?”

“You’re moping.” Rowena asserted. “And what’s with the cat?”

Crowley glanced to his side, where Whiskers lounged on the dais, looking about as thrilled to be there as Crowley felt. “It’s a cat. Any more stupid questions, or can we get down to business?”

Rowena pursed her lips. “Out with it, then.”

Tipping his head, Crowley regarded her with detachment. He knew it was a terrible idea, a dreadful, potentially dangerous idea, but nothing within him could care. Truth be told, he hadn’t particularly been the caring type to begin with, but this past week even his own rank and safety have seemed unimportant. “I’m going to let you go.” He said.

The double-take Rowena did at his words almost brought a smirk to his lips. “I’m sorry, you’re..? I thought for a moment there you said you were going to let me go.”

“I am.” He observed as Rowena raised an eyebrow. “With one condition.”

“How did I know that was coming?”

“Because it runs in the family?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded as if her suspicions had been confirmed. “Ha. So go on, then. What’s your one condition, _son_?”

It was tantamount to admitting weakness, but suddenly her presence in Hell felt like an additional burden on Crowley’s shoulders and he wanted her gone. And, well, two birds, one stone and all that. “I want you to break a mirror for me.”

Rowena’s laugh was disbelieving. “I’m assuming you’re no worried about seven year’s bad luck?” She shook her head. “The Desiderium Cordis glass. You cast the damn spell, you should know well enough the only one who can break the mirror is the caster themselves.”

“Yes, thank you, mother, I am aware of that fact. Not my problem. If you want your freedom – and I know you do - you’ll find a way.”

Rowena narrowed her eyes, meeting his own narrowed gaze. “And you can’t do it, why, exactly..?”

“Not your business.”

She tilted her chin up, her eyes widening. “You don’t _want_ to. You’re too daft in love with the angel. Tell me, Fergus – what has happened since you locked me in the bloody penthouse suite?”

“I _said_ : not your business.” His voice was flat, even to his own ears. Rowena tilted her head. If he didn’t know her better he’d swear that something almost like concern flitted across her eyes. “Break the mirror. I’ll have you escorted topside. Then,” He leaned forward slightly in his throne; Whiskers raised his head and let out a plaintive meow. “You disappear. I never want to see you, hear you, hear _of_   you, ever again, am I making myself understood?”

“Oh, crystal.”

“If we cross paths again, I _will_ kill you.” He wasn’t even convincing himself, but Rowena at least had the intelligence, if not the courtesy, to look duly threatened. He sighed. “And don’t even countenance going after Castiel. His pesky little enchantment? I broke it myself. He’s back at full juice again, he’d swat you like a fly.”

Rowena raised her eyebrows. Her nod looked all too full of understanding and sympathy for his liking, but again, he couldn’t bring himself to really care.

Two birds. All out of stones. The throne room was quiet when Rowena left. It felt suddenly bigger than usual, and not in a satisfyingly grandiose way. Too much time spent in poky topside boltholes, like the one now standing abandoned that represented a potentially hazardous security breach with Castiel knowing its location. It was no good: Crowley should order the place burned to the ground, but he couldn’t bear to. Couldn’t destroy it, couldn’t go back: best it was left as a decaying shrine to… whatever it was he’d lost. A summer fling, a masquerade. _The love of his long life_. Crowley frowned, pushing out the intruding thought. He let one hand fall, accidentally-on-purpose, over the arm of his throne, but Whiskers ignored him. Stupid moggy. Another thing he should’ve left behind in the house – not like cats couldn’t fend for themselves; he’d swear the damn thing was half-feral to start with – but Juliet pined when they were apart too long and the stupid cat was so spoilt it’d probably not last the week and there was always uses for a feline in a place like Hell so swimming in offal it attracted no end of rodents and… ah, who was he kidding? Whiskers was the only part of Jimmy he had left. He’d tried everything the past week to take his mind off Cas. Had thrown himself back into ruling with abandon, but torture had seemed meaningless, the promise of untold carnal degradations and delights with any manner of beautiful creature suddenly held no appeal for him, even the simple satisfaction of a really well-balanced spreadsheet had lost its shine. He leaned over the side of the throne and scooped Whiskers up, the cat rumbling out a protesting little growl as he was placed squarely on Crowley’s lap. His attempts to squirm away were curtailed by Crowley’s firm grip until he relented and settled and eventually Crowley’s fingers circling behind his ears had him purring. Crowley let out a long breath. Nearly four centuries in Hell, and this? This hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced at the end of the torturer’s blade. When did it end? There was really nothing else for it: desperate times called for desperate measures. Standing, Crowley set Whiskers gently onto the seat of his throne, where the cat curled up happily enough and closed his eyes. Crowley clicked his fingers. A rush of air, and he reappeared, smiling wanly. “Hello, Dean.”

 

"Jesus!" Dean swerved briefly before getting a hold of himself, fingers tight on the steering wheel. "We need to put a bell on you now too? What the hell do you want, Crowley?"  
_Delightful to see you, too, Squirrel_. It was on the tip of his tongue, natural as any reflex... Crowley exhaled a small sigh. What was the point? "I was hoping you could tell me how Castiel is doing."

  
Dean cocked a brow, looking over at Crowley. "Why should I do that?" He didn't seem as rough as he probably intended to though. He almost seemed like he cared.

  
"Because I'm..." Crowley's jaw tightened, teeth gritting. "Sod it all. I'm worried about him." His lips pursed as he looked away from Dean and muttered. "I'm not used to worrying about people. It's a terrible inconvenience."

  
"Yeah, well, you fucking with Cas was pretty _inconvenient_ for him too," Dean muttered. Then he sighed, rolled his eyes. "We made him a room and he rarely comes out of it."

  
"I think you'll find that he fucked with himself," Crowley said, quietly. He should be indignant, defending himself from these outrageous accusations. He leaned his head against the cold glass of the passenger window, watched the night-blur of freeway slide past. "He's with you and Sam, then? At the Bunker?"

  
"Yeah, he's at the bunker." Crowley could feel Dean's gaze. "I know he cast the spell himself, but fuck, Crowley. How did this even happen? Did you just pop in, find the amnesiac angel, and decide to take him for a joy ride?"

  
"Don't... Talk about him like that." Crowley's teeth squeaked as he clenched them: it sparked a nasty little pain right up into his skull. "I looked for him. I found him. Then..." He closed his eyes. "Jiggered if I know what happened. All I know is he was happy. And seeing him happy made me... well, it hardly matters now."

  
Dean was quiet for a few minutes. "Sam wants to look at the bracelet, but Cas won't give it to him," he finally said.

  
The bracelet. A sudden, sick feeling exploded in Crowley's gut. "You know I never meant to control him." His voice barely audible over the thrum of the engine. "That wasn't what it was about."

  
"Really? 'Cause you're looking pretty bad." Dean sighed. "I know... But I don't think Cas does."

  
"You've spoken to him?" Crowley turned sharply to look at the man in the driver's seat, sitting up straighter.  "Does he remember..?" He tailed off. "…anything?"

  
"He remembers everything," Dean answered quietly, "He told us some things I did _not_ want to know."

  
That feeling: Crowley wasn't sure if it was his alleged heart skipping a beat, or the sudden desire to vomit. "Has he mentioned me?" Definitely the urge to vomit: the eagerness in his own voice was making him feel sick.

  
Dean groaned, obviously sharing that sick feeling. "He doesn't talk much."

  
"That's a 'no', isn't it?" He'd known it was coming. That the honeymoon couldn't last. That there was a reason that he'd remained uncast in Jimmy's white-picket-fence backstory. Still. It hurt like Hell. And Crowley should know. "Tell me he's at least safe?"

  
"Yeah, I guess," Dean sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course he's safe."

  
"But no longer content." The highway was narrowing now into suburban sprawl, the outskirts of whatever hick town Dean was headed to. Crowley hadn't been paying attention. "That was put paid to when he remembered who he is. _What_ he is." Crowley caught his bottom lip between his teeth. This felt like drowning, burning, flaying, all rolled into one: this writhing formless _empty_ inside that just _kept on going_. "Squirrel? How do I fix this?"

  
Dean raised both his brows, let out another sigh. He licked his lips. "I... I don't know, Crowley. Maybe if you could talk to him, but I don't think he wants to talk to you."

  
"How do you know, if he's not speaking to you?” Oh, this horrible hope.

"Did you see the way he left?" Dean snorted.

"Of course I saw the way he left," Crowley snapped. "I've been seeing it playing over and over in my head for the past week. You could ask him. If he’ll talk to me. I'm not asking for me, I'm asking for Cas."

"Oh come on. Don't use that bullshit on me."

“Has none of this registered with you at all? You think me _that_ incapable of..." _Loving, anyone._ Crowley clamped his jaw shut again, fuming. Crossed his arms and stared unseeing at the dull little town beyond the window where every crappy bar sign and flight of steps just reminded him of where he met Jimmy.

Dean was quiet again. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "No. I don't think you're incapable. I'll... I'll talk to him, alright? No promises, but I'll talk to him."

Turning back, Crowley stared at him, searching for signs of mockery. Dean's eyes were on the road, straight ahead, but even in profile there seemed no hint of a smirk on his grimly-set mouth. "Thank you." Crowley had half expected the words to stick in his throat, but saying them felt almost a relief.

Dean's eyes flicked over and then back to the road. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get all emotional about it," he said, fingers tightening around the steering wheel again.

"Bite me, Winchester." Dean opened his mouth, but whatever kindergarten rejoinder came out of it was lost as Crowley 'ported away. The sitting room of his private suite in Hell was ringing quiet after the noise of wheels and traffic. Crowley bit his lip. "Juliet." The hound raised her head, ears alert, from where she'd been dozing on the couch. "Go find Whiskers, there's a girl." As she trotted off he watched her leave, tapping one finger against his lips. Then he sat, reached for his copy of ‘Serpent Songs’ and braced himself for another long night alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley, Shotgun wrote Dean.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and comments - if you feel so inclined to leave one - are our writerly lifeblood <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel embarks upon a rescue mission.

Castiel was beginning to notice the flaws in the paint on the wall. At first glance it was done well, but after several hours of staring one begins to notice the slightest change in the shadings, where they used more paint, where they used less, where they ran out and got a slightly different shade than the original. In one corner, toward the middle but closer to the top, the paint was peeling a bit. He felt the strangest desire to get up and go to the corner, continue the peeling process.  
It was the most motivated he’d felt in what felt like eons. It was a strange concept, one that he’d never understood in humans, time dragging on. After all, Castiel was incredibly old. Older than... well, any demon, actually. In any case, what was years to humans and the like usually felt like minutes to the angel. Now time seemed to drag on forever. He slept when he could, though it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t leave the room otherwise. What did he need? Food? Restroom? Shower? No. He could take care of himself without anything extra now. He didn’t need these things. He didn’t need anything he had when he thought he was human.  
Just as he was about to sit up there was a knock on the door. He narrowed his eyes, glaring. He wanted to be left alone. Sam and Dean meant well, but there was nothing that they could do to make this better. He clenched his teeth and ground his reply out. “What?”

"Hey man, don't shoot the messenger." Dean's voice sounded muffled through the door, but the slight irritation in his tone was still noticeable. "Or kill the messenger with frostbite or... whatever... Cas, can I just come in? I got something I need to tell you."

Castiel sighed. He hadn't meant to be rude, least of all to Dean. The man had only been trying to help. He ran his fingers through his already messy hair and sat up right. "Come in," he said, resignedly.

The door clicked quietly shut behind Dean as he entered. Worry hung about him like a visible cloud which didn't make Castiel feel any better at all. Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded as he took a seat on the end of Castiel's bed. "Hey. Well, you look like crap."

"Thank you," Castiel said dryly. "Is that what you came in for? Because I could have figured it out myself. After all, I know that I _feel_ like... something awful."

"I spoke to Crowley."

Castiel tensed. He narrowed his eyes. He felt... betrayed. Dean was _his_ friend after all. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "You know how he is. Dude popped up in my passenger seat asking after you. I keep thinking I'll get used to that shit, but I never do. Damn near rolled Baby."

Castiel huffed at that, crossing his arms. He looked at the wall, the spot he'd been planning to peel, pretended he wasn't interested. "What did he have to say?"

"Cas, man..." Dean paused, and Castiel resisted the urge to turn and look at him. "He wants to talk to you - let me finish, OK?" A long sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this. He seemed... Different. I've spent enough time with that asshole to know when he's acting to get what he wants, and I've never seen him like this before. Never."

Castiel closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want the false hope that Crowley cared about him. He was quiet for a moment before looking up at Dean again. "He used me. He lied and took advantage of me."

"Yeah, well... You don't gotta tell me that you got the lousiest taste in dates." Dean pulled a face. "In fact, I kinda don't even want to think about it." He looked like he was barely repressing a shudder. "But, man, you've been moping ever since you got back here. Maybe talking to him might not be such a bad idea? Y'know - closure?" He said the word like it tasted bad. "Or, it'll get Crowley off my back at least." He let out another sigh, rubbing his jaw with one hand. "He's got his faults - boy, so many faults. But... when he was with you? When he dropped in on me last night? I dunno."

Castiel's shoulders slumped. "I... He made me love him," he whispered, "He was so charming." Suddenly he sat up right. "He has my cat. I'll talk to him. I want my cat back."

Maybe it was an excuse, maybe he wanted to give him a chance. He wouldn't admit it.  
Dean's eyebrows rose, but he just nodded. "Yeah, you should... go get your cat back, champ."

Castiel nodded. "Where do I find him? Should I go to his house? Do you think my cat is there?" He was suddenly anxious, getting to his feet, smoothing out his shirt. "Did he say anything about him?"

"He... Ah, no. He didn't mention the cat." Dean was still staring at him with an expression of what looked like bemusement. "He didn't say where he'd be, either. Kinda thought you'd just, y’know," he made a vague gesture in the air, "be able to follow the sulphur stank, or however you guys usually track demons?"

Castiel looked at Dean incredulously. "No, I have to go from place to place searching." He sighed. "Well, I'd better get started then."

"Right now?" _When you were dead set on never talking to the guy again?_ Dean's tone seemed to say.

Castiel huffed. "Dean, my cat is with the King of Hell. That is not okay. I need to retrieve him."

"Well... sure, Cas. Of course you do. You go do that."

"Right." Castiel straightened up, hands hanging at his sides. He still wore jeans and a t-shirt, his bracelet in a pocket of the jeans. It felt a bit odd.

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something. The last thing Castiel heard as he flew was a slightly panicked "Wait - you're not bringing that cat back _here_ are you?"  


  
It was the front room that he appeared in. It didn’t look any different. The couch was where it belonged, the rug in front of it where Juliet would lie, Whiskers lounging atop her. There was even a scotch glass on the end table, just a little bit of liquid in it. Crowley had been drinking it while he held Castiel. Castiel closed his eyes, took a deep breath. The house was quiet. Silent. It had never been this way. Even when Crowley hadn’t been home, there was always the sound of the pets breathing, walking around. He didn’t feel their presence. He appeared in the bedroom: Whiskers liked to sleep on the pillows. He wasn’t there. They bed looked slept in, the sheets and blankets askew. He wondered if Crowley had slept here or this was how they’d left it together.

His heart ached, his stomach twisted. Being here was too much to handle. The cat wasn’t there, and neither were Juliet or Crowley. He walked over to the bed, sat down. Reaching over he took Crowley’s pillow into his arms, held it to his chest. He buried his nose in it, breathed in the scent. And he cried.

Hell. A place he’d planned never to return. A place that held too many memories. Fighting to save the Righteous Man, making a deal with the devil, blood, guts, torture. Yet here he was, standing at the gate. Crowley was almost certainly in there, and he had Whiskers.

Castiel squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes. He’d acquired his trench coat and he pulled an angel blade from his pocket, fingers tight around the cold metal. It felt familiar and foreign at once. It felt natural and alien, empowering and terrifying. He clenched his jaw, breathed in deep, and stepped inside. He was not a defenceless human. He was Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shotgun wrote Cas, TheFierceBeast wrote Dean. Thank you so much for sticking with us - almost fic finale time now ;)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel confronts Crowley: a showdown.

"Fergus, I love you more than anything. Always." Crowley's expression betrayed no emotion as he listened, although the mixture of confusion and adoration in that gravel voice was clear to hear.

"Forever and then some? I love you, James." The light from the little screen of the phone flickered across Crowley's face, reflected wetly in his eyes.

"Forever and then some." Oh, that voice, followed by the soft private sounds of a kiss. Crowley's lips pressed together, thinning into a hard line. He tapped the phone screen with one thumb.

"Fergus, I love you more than anything. Always." With the mirror broken, he'd wondered if the infatuation would fade. Perhaps a part of him had hoped. Anything would be better than this unquenchable hollow _empty_.

"Forever and then some? I love you-" He fumbled the phone as a loud bang sounded from beyond the closed doors: shouts of panic and a roar like flames and both doors swung open, sagging off their hinges with the blow. " _Jimmy_?" The flare of shock burned bright but brief: it wasn't possible. It _wasn't_ possible- despite the fact that underneath his smoking, blood-spattered trench-coat Castiel was still clad in jeans and a T, it was still undeniably Castiel. And he looked right royally pissed off.

"My _name_ is _Castiel_ ," the angel ground out, narrowing his eyes even more. "Where is my cat?" Before Crowley had a chance to respond Juliet came bounding in and jumped on Castiel, causing him to make a surprised noise. "Juliet," he whispered, scratching behind her eyes, "Hello, Juliet."

"These are my private quarters," Crowley managed, somewhat weakly. Before him, his most faithful hellhound pawed excitedly at the angelic mercenary who'd apparently fought his way into Hell again, into the King's inner sanctum no less... Crowley could only assume that the various viscera decorating that dreadful coat came from his own loyal(ish) if somewhat useless subjects. Fierce-eyed and messy-haired and drenched in blood, Castiel turned from Juliet and glared at him. _Oh, crap, he looks hot. And he's broken into Hell to rescue his cat._ Crowley couldn't help it: a panicked little giggle forced its way out of his mouth.

Castiel's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. He rested his hand atop Juliet's head, petting her gently as he spoke. "I do not believe this is a laughing matter, Crowley."

It was so familiar, yet all so surreal. Like the past months had been nothing but a vivid, beautiful dream, and now here was reality: the avenging angel. "Well... If we didn't laugh, etc etc..." And oh boy, did Crowley ever feel like the alternative. He forced a smooth smile, standing and taking a step forward. He nodded pleasantly at the angel's attire. "Dress-down, Thursday?"

Castiel stood up straight and Juliet paced in front of him, letting out something akin to what would be a normal dog's whine. "I'll only ask once more. Where. Is. My. Cat?"

"Juliet. Come." Crowley said, softly. No minions were rushing to his aid: ergo, they were either unaware, dead, or more scared of this creature than their king. He couldn't really blame them: the angel looked formidable; it tugged painfully at his heart. Juliet cast a backwards glance at Castiel as she paced over to stand in front of Crowley. She was confused, wary: he could practically feel it. "Whiskers is fine. Although I think Juliet is wondering why mommy and daddy are fighting."

Castiel rolled his eyes. Actually _rolled his eyes_. His time as Jimmy must have had a lasting effect. "It's fine, Juliet," he sighed softly before turning. "Whiskers!" There was a soft meow and the cat stepped from behind the throne, circling Crowley's feet while staring at Castiel.

"He's missed you," Crowley hazarded, conversationally. Whiskers glanced at Castiel in disdain, turning his back and sitting on Crowley's feet. "Been off his food, not even interested in drink or killing things. All he's done is sat and cried for you." Could the angel detect that edge to his voice? He never was all that perceptive. _Either let him go or fight for him_... The torments of Hell were nothing, this felt like a descent into madness.

"Whiskers..." This time the angel's voice sounded pained. He strode over quickly and before Crowley could respond Castiel was on his knees before him, petting the cat's head. "It's a good thing _Whiskers_ never hurt me, so I can come back for him."

The urge to reach down and run his fingers through that tousled hair was nigh on unbearable. _I do so enjoy you on your knees, darling. Go on, Crowley, say it_. He couldn't. Crowley swallowed, his throat tight with _damned_ emotion. "Did I hurt you so very badly, angel?" His voice sounded flayed.

Castiel kept his head down, Crowley couldn't see his expression. He continued to pet Whiskers slowly until he walked away. Still, the angel didn't move. "You used me," he said quietly, "You tricked me into loving you."

 _Did you, Crowley?_ the insidious little voice in his head asked. Nearly four centuries of looking out for número uno and he couldn't even quite tell any more if he'd done right by the creature he loved in the end. The only thing he was deadly certain of was, "It _was_ real, you know." His voice was barely a murmur.

Castiel's shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath that he no longer needed. He was quiet for a moment. "Was it?" When he lifted his head his brows were furrowed, confusion written over his face. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Or was it just a play to get me into your bed? Use the amnesiac angel, leave him broken when he remembers."

"Is that really what you think of me?" If Crowley had thought that nothing could cut him deeper than anger in those wide blue eyes, he'd not reckoned on how painfully seeing them hurt would strike him. "Now? After everything we've shared?" Juliet whined as he dropped to his knees, face level with Castiel’s. "Hate me if you will, but for pity's sake hear me out. When I hunted you down I was looking for revenge. I wanted to kill you, not shag you. And then I found you..."

Castiel's expression said that he didn't know. He hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach, but instead he wrapped his arms around himself. "Perhaps you thought of a better form of revenge," he said quietly.

Something in Crowley's chest felt like it twisted, choking the sense from him. "I'm a lot of things, I admit it - Hell, I'm proud of it - but I have my integrity, damn it. I _respect_ you: I wouldn't take you out in anything less than a fair fight. You were... you were human. You, but... not you. At first I wanted to..." Crowley paused, closed his eyes, bracing himself to say it out loud. "At first I wanted to find out what was wrong, fix you so I could end you. But along the way... I didn't expect to get to know you like I did. For you to want to know me."  
"How can I trust you?" The words were a whisper. "How do I know you mean any of this? And if you do... You're still a demon. I'm an angel. You... You kill people, torture them. It doesn't... It doesn't matter. I can't..." He stopped talking, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

 _Whatta devil! Makes angels cry!_ Crowley shook his head, angrily, his vision blurring. He couldn't hold back any more: his arms encircled Castiel's shoulders, drawing him close. His hair - that too-familiar scent of pure air - tickled Crowley's nose as he spoke gruffly, "Smite me if you must but I can't bear to see you upset."

Castiel allowed himself to be pulled in, forehead pressed against Crowley's chest. Fingers curled in his shirt. "That's awfully selfish," he whispered, "Smiting you would _make_ me upset."

"Then don't. Just stay here. Problem solved." He had no heartbeat, did he, so why did it feel like Crowley's heart was beating out of his chest? So much to say, but the fear of breaking this one fragile shining thread of hope was too great: Crowley held on tighter.

Castiel made a soft noise. "In Hell? You want me to stay in Hell? I just killed every other demon I saw. I'm a liability to your business."

"Sod my business. You probably did me a favour. If they couldn’t take you out, what use were they? Demons: you can't trust a one of 'em." He was pleading, and he didn't care.

Castiel lifted his head, looking up into Crowley's eyes. "Not one?"

Crowley couldn't bring himself to let go; kept tight hold with one hand as he fumbled with the other for the chain around his neck. When he slipped the inhibitor ring onto his finger, it felt like exhaling a long-held breath. The voice in his head screamed _idiot_ , raged at him _he could end you with a thought! Your lowliest lackey could!_ His own voice shook: unfamiliar. "Not one. I'm just a man. Will you get me out of here? Protect me, angel?"

Castiel looked down, eyes tracking Crowley's movements. He swallowed and looked back up. A hand came up, tentatively touching Crowley's cheek. "I think it's time we took the kids and went home."

 _Don't think. Hell can wait._ Crowley swallowed, thickly. "I couldn't agree more. Darling, will you drive?" He whistled under his breath to Juliet, draped an arm around her shaggy neck.

Where Juliet went Whiskers so often followed, and this time was no different. Castiel wrapped the cat up with one arm and in a blink they all sat on the couch in their living room.  


  
Fingers ruffling Juliet's fur, Crowley looked around. So strange, this feeling - now he could almost believe that it was those cold weeks exiled back in Hell that were merely a nightmare - but he couldn't allow even a moment of complacency. Beside him, Whiskers yawned disaffectedly, jumped lightly down from the couch and trotted out of the room. Crowley needed a drink. In front of him on the coffee table sat the dregs of a tumbler of whisky. Crowley clicked his fingers: nothing. Oh yes. He'd almost forgotten.

Castiel watched Crowley's every movement, eyes uncertain. "You look stressed," he said slowly, cautiously, "Why?"

Crowley gave a weak laugh. This being human business, when the object of your affections was a supernatural powerhouse - he didn't know what Castiel ever saw in it. But he was determined to commit, at least in the short term. "It's been a long couple of weeks, pet. I could do with a drink." Despite it all, the uncertainty and whatever precarious equilibrium was suddenly back between them, Crowley had to admit: it felt good to be home.

"Is that what you want?" Castiel's voice was a whisper as he reached out, touching Crowley's cheek. "Is a drink what would make you feel better?"

"Cas..." His voice rasped, too full of desperate hope. Crowley leaned into the feather-light touch, gazing at the angel sitting next to him: inches and miles away.

Castiel wet his lips. "If... If there's something else that would make you feel better, you should tell me," he whispered, fingers trailing ever so lightly over his face.

Those lips, the memory of them on his... Crowley was mesmerised. Something like terrified. "Cas..." He closed his eyes, laying a palm over the hand cradling his face. "Forgive me?"

Castiel stroked his thumb lightly over Crowley's cheek, not speaking. After a moment there was movement and then lips pressed to his, ever so tenderly.

A strange little noise made its way unbidden from Crowley's chest. It sounded much like a sob, but all he felt was an avalanche of relief almost as sweet as the kiss Castiel had bestowed upon him. _Blessed him with_ \- it felt heaven-sent, nothing that Crowley could ever have imagined for himself. He couldn't open his eyes, could only chase another kiss when Castiel withdrew, gasping, "Cas... you're sure about this?"

Castiel let himself get caught in that second kiss, hand sliding up into Crowley's hair. "Don't make me regret it," he whispered.

"I won't." Soft dry lips and the prickle of stubble beneath Crowley's lips. A slow flick of tongue that felt like the first time. No call for wisecracking now: his humanity-fogged mind whited out with a crackle of static as he half pulled the angel on top of him, half let himself be pushed down onto the couch. _This time everything will be right_. His hands slid beneath heavy folds of coat, found the soft tease of skin where the angel's t-shirt rode up. That outfit said it all: not quite Jimmy anymore, but not the old Castiel, either. They both had so much to relearn.

Fingers slid up into Crowley's hair and he felt Castiel's soft breath against his lips, tongue flicking against his in return. A soft noise of pleasure as Castiel pressed himself atop Crowley, fingers tugging gently at his hair. The hunger flared inside, devouring any last lingering scraps of doubt and anxiety: this was Crowley's familiar territory, his stock in trade, that smooth expanse of taut muscle and sleek skin beneath his palms, the flush of arousal his touch could prompt across those high cheekbones. And yet... Crowley arched beneath him, the lithe body pressing him firmly against the leather of the couch. It was new too, to be rendered defenceless, practically _human_ beneath the angel who'd just snatched him from Hell.  
Castiel let out a soft growl, breaking the kiss to mouth at Crowley's neck. He pressed him down firmly, stronger than before. "I want you in the bedroom," he whispered against his neck, breath ghosting over his skin, " _Now_."

Crowley swallowed, hard, a new kind of lust thrilling through him. "Your wish is my- ah-" _Oh, bollocks. He'd almost forgotten: no teleporting in this condition._ His voice dropped lower. "Then take what you want, angel."

Castiel chuckled against Crowley's lips. "Mm... I like being the one with the power," he whispered, lips brushing over Crowley's skin. And then they were in bed, Crowley still beneath him. Juliet barked once downstairs, but only the once: she didn't follow. Perhaps she could sense any lack of her papa's unease even when he was demonically challenged. Crowley smiled, slow, luxuriating. He rubbed his nose against Cas's. Summoned his best seductive voice. "Don't hold back then, darling. Show me what you've got."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously we couldn't have a sad ending to this because we love them. Hope you enjoy this and the final chapter before the inevitable harrowing shitfest of S13 commences..!! (Joking! Kinda!)
> 
> Shotgun wrote Cas, TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley. We love every one of you who have read this, given kudos or written us comments, you are the best and you cheer us up x


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing and making up and everything after :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it - it's finally done! It feels weird to be posting this, that we started writing so long ago and now we're a week away from Season 13. Thank you so much for everyone who's stuck with us and read this fic, and for all your amazing comments - you make us very happy.
> 
> As ever, Shotgun wrote Cas, TheFierceBeast wrote Crowley. xx

It was so different than before. Crowley beneath him, at his mercy, Castiel the one with all the power. It was an _interesting_ feeling. An arousing one. Castiel brushed his lips ever so delicately along Crowley's neck. His hands rested on Crowley’s hips, pinning him to the mattress, fingers slipped under his shirt. Oh, how he'd missed that warm skin, that delicious scent. He ran his nose along Crowley's neck and sighed in pleasure.

 

Beneath him, Crowley _squirmed_ , clearly trying to buck his hips, but Castiel's casual grip had him pinned too effectively. If the physical indicators had anything to say about it, Crowley was not complaining. His eyes were bright, lips flushed, usually immaculate hair mussed. His chest rose and fell quickly beneath his dishevelled shirt as he panted. Licked his lips.

 

Castiel pulled back, looming over him, to admire the sight. "Look at you," he breathed, "So beautiful for me." One hand moved up, fingers pushing through Crowley's hair, trailing down his cheek, "But one day, I want _you_ , Fergus, not just your vessel."

 

He ground down against him, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation and heard the hitch in Crowley's breath, although whether it was the action or the words that caused it... "Never thought I'd hear you call me that again." Castiel looked down at the man sprawled beneath him. "You can have me, you know. Every part of me. Even the bits I've never given away before, it's all yours, Cas."

 

Castiel slid his hands along Crowley's neck and leaned down, pressing their lips ever so tenderly together. "I want it," he whispered, "I want all of you, love. I want you to have all of me."

 

"Cas..." The way Crowley kept repeating his name, almost as if he was... checking. His golden eyes spoke a mixture of wariness and hope that Castiel wouldn't have believed before his stint under the amnesia spell, no matter how expressive the face of Crowley's vessel had always been. "You won't change your mind? I can't change who I am...  What I am. I don't _want_ to..."

 

Castiel sighed softly, pressing his forehead to Crowley's. "Then I'll have to keep protecting people from you," he whispered. "I suppose that will make for a difficult relationship."

 

"It'll never be boring.”

 

"We'll have to leave work at the office." Castiel's lips brushed against Crowley's as he stared down at him. "No talking about it here."

 

"Anything you say, boss." How did he manage to sound irreverent and wistful at the same time like that? "Just never leave like that again?"

 

"If you'll never lie to me again," Castiel whispered, brushing his thumb tenderly over Crowley's forehead, ever adoring.

 

"Absolute transparency. Girlscout's honour. I won't even knock any decades off my age next birthday."

 

Castiel huffed out a soft laugh at that. "Remember that I'm much older than you."

 

"You wear it so well though. What's your secret? Tell me it's not abstinence." Crowley arched against him, taking advantage of how his grip had slackened as they'd talked. Castiel could feel him; not quite as aroused as when Castiel had flown them both to the bed, but still half-hard in his tailored black trousers: it took a lot to dampen Crowley's ardour once it was sparked.

It made Castiel gasp softly, fingers tightening around Crowley's hip. He leaned down, kissing him more deeply. "It's certainly not abstinence," he breathed, fingers sliding up Crowley's shirt. He could swear Crowley _shivered_. The skin beneath Castiel's fingers prickled into goose-bumps and Crowley groaned, his hands so warm, pushing Castiel's coat off his shoulders, tugging at his t-shirt. Castiel sat up and pulled it over his head, tossing it on the floor. It was a little odd, doing this and not feeling a chill. He almost missed it. He bit his lip, tugging at Crowley's tie as he rolled his hips against him gently. "Mm....I think I know why you picked this vessel."

 

"And why's..." Crowley gasped, his eyelashes fluttering, "...that, then, choirboy?" His hands traced Castiel's chest reverently, following the curve of his ribs, dipping down to skim his belly and tug at the button of his jeans.

 

Castiel couldn't help feeling self-satisfied at Crowley's gasp, the break between words. Yet he shivered at his touch, arching into it. Those big, warm hands were amazing. "Hmm..." Castiel used one hand to undo the buttons of Crowley's shirt and slid the other down to squeeze his cock through his pants. "Does that answer your question, love?"

 

"And I thought you were referring to my pretty eyes..." Crowley just about managed a theatrical little pout, but Castiel could see that he was holding it together with difficulty. He remembered well: the overwhelming sensation when he was near-mortal in a demon's embrace. What must Crowley be feeling now, his breath coming so quickly, his hips rocking desperately?

 

Castiel licked his lips, rubbing Crowley firmly through his pants as he pushed open his shirt, fingers trailing along his chest. "No, I prefer _your_ eyes," he hummed, as the man beneath his shivered pleasurably to his touch.

"You always said they were... beautiful... when they're..." Castiel's fingertips tightened around one nipple, rolling gently and Crowley moaned, his thick cock jerking in the confines of his clothing. "Do you want me to take the ring off?" He asked, voice hesitant.

Castiel made a soft noise at Crowley's moan. "They are," he breathed, leaning down to lick at Crowley's nipple, wanting more of that reaction. "Take it off," he breathed, "Yes. I want you."

 

"Angel," Crowley's voice lowered to a growl. He slipped the silver ring from his finger, dropping it to the floor at the side of the bed. His eyes flared instantly red, leaking vapour as if he could barely contain himself. The body that had felt so pliant and submissive beneath Castiel's hands thrummed suddenly with vibrant energy.

 

Castiel looked down at Crowley and he groaned at the sight of him. "You're so beautiful," he growled, surging down to kiss him.

 

"Back at you, pet." Castiel felt the familiar lurch of magic, and it was him on his back, Crowley smirking down at him like a cat with a canary. "Oh, how I've missed that view."

 

Castiel was briefly surprised, but he wrapped his legs around Crowley's waist, roughly pulling him in. "Have you now?"

 

"Let me show you how much, love." Crowley's right hand fisted in his hair, tugging firmly, just this side of too much and Castiel felt the sudden  slide of skin against skin as the rest of their clothes abruptly vanished, Crowley's cock rubbing against his.

Castiel gasped out in pleasure, hips jerking up. Oh, he'd missed that. "Mm... Should we not change things up though," he whispered and rolled them over, pressing tightly, roughly against the mattress.

 

Crowley arched beneath him, lips parting, eyes flaming. He tilted his chin up, wriggling in Castiel's grip as if testing his strength. His smile was purely delighted. "Do you think you can handle me, Cassie?"

 

Castiel licked his lips and he knew his eyes shone bright, showing just a bit of the angel in the vessel. "I've handled you plenty in the past, haven't I?"

 

"Admirably, love. Although..." Crowley's gaze followed Castiel's eyes, clearly mesmerised. "Let's not pretend things aren't a little _different_ now."

 

Castiel tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, curious as to what Crowley meant. "Different? How? I'm an angel, you're a demon." He leaned down on top of Crowley, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging roughly. "I have to overpower you," he whispered against his lips before kissing him hard.

The noise Crowley made in response was quite indescribable. His tongue thrust lazily, tangling with Castiel's, as he let Castiel angle the kiss to his liking. _Let_ him. There was no mistaking Crowley's intent there, his vessel pliant beneath Castiel's. When they broke apart, the light in the demon king's eyes was mischievous, his voice low and purring. " _Overpower_ me? Are you certain you've got it in you, _angel_?"

Castiel licked his lips, rubbing against Crowley. As he stared him in the eye his wings unfolded behind him, huge and tattered, feathers missing. "Test me," he whispered.

 

"Lord, Cas..." That burning light in his eyes, both reverent and greedy. "Please..?" He didn't voice the question, but Castiel knew what he wanted even before Crowley's hands lit upon his wings, following the curve of his shoulders out, a rapturous sigh shuddering from his chest.

 

And oh, he wanted it. To have someone else's hands on his wings, someone he loved. He'd heard tales of the sensitivity, but beyond grooming many years ago they'd not been touched by anyone else. "Yes," he breathed, "Oh...Yes."

 

"Terrible creature." Crowley's voice shook - awe, desire, triumph: it was written all over his face - his fingers sank into soft feathers, combing through, gentle but firm. "So beautiful, so powerful, Cas... you could end me with a touch, couldn't you?" He didn't sound afraid. He sounded excited.

 

Castiel let out a choked gasp at the touch. He buried his face in Crowley neck, moaning softly, his feathers fluttering beneath his touch. "I think you've just ended me," he breathed.

 

"So soon? I'm disappointed." Crowley's grin turned wicked again. His hands were as sure on feathers as on skin, intuitive and bold, learning Castiel's reaction to every stroke. "I was starting to think I was in for a good seeing-to." His hips shifted, angling up so they slid together, hot and silky-hard.

 

Castiel let out a little moan and bit at Crowley's neck in retaliation. "That's hardly fair. No one has touched my wings like this before," he grumbled, hips jerking. He tugged roughly at Crowley's hair again, just for something to show he still had power.

 

"I'll touch your wings like this as often as you like, darling. Your wings, your other extremities, your _everything_..." One hand remained buried in the feathers just above Castiel's left shoulder, circling as if Crowley was petting a cat. The other slipped between them, where their vessels were pressed flush, Crowley's hand wrapping firmly around Castiel's aching cock.

 

"Touch them all the time," Castiel panted softly, "Don't ever need to stop. Please don't stop." He moaned as he felt Crowley's hand wrap around him and pressed their foreheads together so he could see his lover's eyes. "So beautiful," he breathed, hands sliding down his sides.

 

Crowley's grip shifted, taking them both in hand, his erection rubbing against Castiel's as his thrust into his own grasp. "I'll never stop wanting you, angel. To see all of you, like this... Mmmm..." His mouth was lazy against Castiel's, deep unhurried kisses. "I love you like this. Knowing nobody gets to see you like this but me."

 

Castiel gasped softly against Crowley's lips, loving the way they slid together. He nipped his lower lip, tugging gently with his teeth. "Mm... Am I the only who gets to see _you_ like this?"

 

"You are now." Crowley chased his lips as he pulled away, teasing. "I'll give you every bit of me, love." He bent one of his knees, thigh sliding between Castiel's thighs, pressing up between his legs.

 

Castiel's voice was firm, rough, almost a growl. " _Good_." He kissed Crowley deeply, hands gripping his hips, fingers digging in.

 

"Possessive, angel?" Crowley's gaze followed the flex and spread of his wings greedily.

 

"Perhaps a bit," Castiel whispered, "Is that a problem, Fergus?"

 

"Not at all. Although, you may have be strict with me." His eyes twinkled.

 

Castiel licked his lips. "Will I? And how is that?'

 

"Don't stand for any of my nonsense. Assert your celestial dominance." That smile, so wicked.

 

"Hmm... And I wonder how I ought to assert that dominance," he said thoughtfully. Then he was spreading Crowley's legs and slipping between them, hands rubbing his thighs firmly.

Crowley's smile spread, sweet and pleased, his eyes slipping half shut, his fingers busying themselves again with handfuls of soft feathers. The muscles of his thick thighs flexed beneath Castiel's hands, an unfamiliar perspective on a familiar feeling.

Castiel licked his lips, trying to control his soft, rapid breaths. There was no reason for that, yet there it was. He slid his hand between Crowley's thighs, fingers grazing his balls before slipping behind them.

 

"Yes... Cas..." The fingers buried in his feathers tightened. Crowley's eyelashes fluttered, mouth dropping open. Castiel gazed down with awe, bottom lip catching between his teeth. As he slipped his fingers back further they were slicked with lube, circling Crowley’s hole. Head tilted on the pillows, Crowley watched him intently from beneath lowered lashes, his gaze hot. He lowered his hands, palm up on the pillows, his throat bared, a pose of absolute supplication:  a lion rolling over and presenting its belly. A purposeful gift - or perhaps a test; it was always hard to tell with Crowley.

But oh, how beautiful he looked like this. Castiel leaned down, lips running slowly, tenderly, along Crowley's throat. "You're the loveliest thing I've ever laid my eyes on."

No coherent reply: a rumbling groan, a shift beneath him, a hitch of breath. Crowley was _writhing_ , speechless at his touch: such a shift of power, even if it felt a little like Crowley was _allowing_ it - or perhaps just not fighting any more

Slowly, carefully, Castiel slipped two fingers inside. He knew he wouldn't hurt him, but a part of him wanted to tease. It made Crowley groan, a desperate low rumble. His thighs spread wider as he rocked back on Castiel's fingers. "Yes... Cas... More..."

 

"You're not asking nicely," Castiel murmured lowly, pushing his fingers in a little deeper.

 

" _Please_." Crowley gasped, lashes fluttering again, his empty fists clenching against the white cotton pillowcase. His cock jerked, pearling wetness at the tip and he whined; such a delightfully frustrated sound. "Please, Cas, more... please..."

 

"Much better," Castiel purred, slipping another finger inside Crowley, curling it deep in him.

 

"Oh, fuck, yes..." His body drew tight, bowed so gracefully when Castiel touched him there. As if he couldn't hold back any longer, or perhaps needed an anchor, one hand grasped at Castiel's hip, fingers tight. The other went to Crowley's own chest, toying with one hard nipple as his breath came fast and shallow.

 

Castiel was panting as he worked his fingers in and out of Crowley, gaze glued to the man's face, body. "Touch my wings," he growled. Whether at the shift and spread of his fingers, or his words, or the tone if his voice; Crowley made another desperate low sound. His hands cupped Castiel's face as he reached up, meeting his gaze, eyes brimming with adoration. Then he was smoothing along Castiel's broad flight feathers again, stroking the barbs flat, ruffling gentle fingertips into the soft down at the base. Castiel made a choked sound, fucking his fingers in and out of Crowley harder, faster. "Yes," he panted softly, "Fergus... I need you."

 

Those thick fingers dragged down the length of each wing, as far as Crowley could reach, combing through coal black plumage. Crowley's hips lifted against Castiel's fingers. "You can have me," he managed. "Make me yours, angel."

 

Castiel gasped, pulling his fingers out. His wings trembled beneath Crowley's touch. He stroked his cock a few times and then nudged between Crowley's legs, pushing at his hole until he slid in, with a low groan.

How had they waited so long to do it this way? Crowley exhaled a long shaky satisfied-sounding breath. His thighs wrapped around Castiel's waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him deeper. The thick length of his cock rubbed between their bellies. Castiel let out a low groan, hands sliding slowly up Crowley's sides. "Oh... You feel incredible," he breathed.

 

A pink blush was spreading across Crowley's chest, climbing his throat. His eyes glassy with lust. "You too... Love... Oh, fuck, Cas, please, touch me..." Blindly he pulled one of Castiel's hands between them, pushing it towards his dick.

 

Castiel wrapped his fingers around Crowley, stroking him slowly as he began to thrust in and out of him. He couldn't believe how incredible this felt. He dropped his forehead to Crowley's, staring into his eyes. "I love you," he panted softly.

 

"Cassss..." Crowley's gravelly whisper was drawn out into a reverent sigh. The hands petting through his feathers moved to his shoulders, bracing against him as Crowley receive his rolling thrusts. "Tell me... my name, just once, say it?" It sounded more like a plea than a demand.

 

It took a minute to comprehend what Crowley was asking for. He'd said Fergus many times. Why did he- _oh_. He kissed him deeply, groaning softly in pleasure, thrusts getting harder. "Crowley," he panted into his mouth, "Oh, Crowley...You're incredible."

 

"Yessss..." A gasp against his lips, the snug clutch around his cock tightening sweetly. "Cas..." His brows tightened too, drawing together as if the words came with effort. "I love you too, angel," he whispered. His breath caught, "Hell help me, I love you Castiel."

 

Castiel ground deeper inside Crowley, gasping softly in pleasure. "Mm... Love you, Crowley," he whispered, "Love you so much."

 

The warm body beneath him shifted, closer, tensing in all the right places, rocking backwards onto his cock, upwards into his palm. "Pet, I'm close. Make me, and then," Crowley swallowed, like he was struggling for control, "then, hard as you like, darling."

 

Castiel gasped, fucking Crowley harder, faster. He stroked him in time with the thrusts. "Come for me, my love."

 

And with a delicious little moan, Crowley spilled into Castiel's palm, hot and messy across his own belly. His eyes opened, wide, human and hazel and glazed with pleasure as he gazed up at Castiel. "Please, Cas, hard... pound me."

 

Castiel stroked Crowley through his orgasm before releasing him, instead grasping his hips. He didn't hold back. The strength he used would injured a mere human, but Crowley wasn't human, after all. "Is that what you want? I'm so close."

 

"Fuck, yes, angel, yes," Crowley's thighs tightened around his waist, his words bitten off into blissed out little grunts as Crowley's head lolled against the pillows. "Make me... feel you..."

 

Castiel braced himself, hands on either side of Crowley's head, and fucked into him as hard as he could. Loud groans and grunts fell from his lips. His wings raised high. "Ah! Fu- Crowley!" He pushed in as deep as possible, collapsing on his lover as he came.

 

Crowley's chest rose and fell beneath him: unnecessary human habits, but still such a comfort. After a moment Castiel registered Crowley's arms wrapped around his shoulders, the demon's face pressed against the soft feathers of his left wing as if Crowley was breathing him in. Castiel sighed in pleasure, burying his face in Crowley's neck, kissing softly at his skin. He closed his eyes, simply relishing the closeness. "Tell me that was good for you, too, love?" Crowley gave a stunned little chuckle beneath him, uncrossing his ankles and lowering his feet carefully to the bed. "Because I think I may have lost the use of my legs."

 

Castiel let out a breathy laugh against Crowley's neck. "That was incredible," he breathed, nuzzling him gently.

 

"Understatement. There isn't enough hyperbole in the world." Crowley nosed at his cheek until Castiel turned, letting the demon capture his lips in a slow kiss. "You're magnificent. Literally."

 

Castiel made a pleased noise into the kiss, fingers combing gently through Crowley’s hair. "And you," he whispered, "My loveliest abomination."

 

"Sweet-talker." Crowley's pleased little smile was unmistakeably genuine.

 

Castiel chuckled softly. He pushed Crowley's hair from his forehead. "I love you, Crowley."

 

"Back at you, Feathers." Crowley's little smile spread into a grin. "How about cocktails? I feel like cocktails. There's this marvellous little place in Edinburgh..."

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

Dean and Sam,

 

It’s been a rather confusing couple of months, but Crowley and I have come to a mutual understanding, and I could not be happier. While I appreciate your concerns about the two of us, you needn’t worry. I am aware of who I am as well as who he is, and I love him for every piece, pure and evil. I know that you won’t understand, that you can’t, but I hope that you will accept us nonetheless. I still consider you my brothers, and your acceptance is very important to me.

I will, this time, leave a return address which will remain the same. Crowley isn’t fond of our address being written anywhere, but as I insisted on writing a letter (it seems more human to me) this is how it will remain. Still, I will leave it on a table for you rather than sending it through the mail. Now that I’m able to get places more quickly things are easier.

Dean, it’s been quiet without your prayers. Should you need me, know that I’m only one call away. (Crowley is now referencing a song and suggesting that Superman has nothing on me. I know who Superman is, but do not follow).

Sam, the same can be said for you, though you’ve not prayed to me as much as Dean in the past. I understand Crowley’s reference now. He played the song. I do not believe Dean would like it. Though I suppose if you were to ignore the underlying romantic message it applies. I don’t think you should listen anyway. Crowley does. That’s enough reason for you not to, I believe.

 

I’ve lost my train of thought. After my last line Crowley and I briefly bickered and then made up (I’m trying to say this in a way that won’t upset Dean the way my previous mentions of our sexual encounters did). I suppose that’s all there is to say. I hope that you will accept my relationship and ignore any death threats from my lover from this time forth. He doesn’t mean them. He just doesn’t know how to show that he cares for you.

I’m going to drop this off now before Crowley sees that last bit and asks me to get rid of it. We’ll be seeing you soon.

 

Castiel

Angel of the Lord


End file.
